The Choice of Elros
by LalaithElerrina
Summary: Elros, the brother of Elrond, has the power to live for all the ages of the world as an immortal Elf. But what if his heart bids him to make another choice?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The Silmarillion is Tolkien's, as are all his canon characters.

The Choice of Elros

Chapter One

Cool wind brushed through the unbound tresses of her long, honey brown hair as Andreth hurried along the forest road, the leaves overhead filtering late afternoon sunlight down onto the wide path before her. The weight of the basket upon her arm hampered her speed, but she thought little of its weight.

Far off in the forest, she could hear the bright, sprightly voices of birds, and her own lips echoed their song. Her heart felt light today, and as she thought of the pleased smile that would touched the thin lips of Firiel at her arrival, her own smile grew. Sweet Firiel, aged and infirm as she was, had been feeling poorly these last days, and the girl hoped that the contents of the basket she carried would bring light to the old woman's eyes. It would serve, only a little, to repay the kind woman for all that she had done for the maiden since she had lost her father in the War of Wrath. Her mother had died years before, giving Andreth life, and without Firiel, she would have been utterly alone.

She looked down at her basket, and lifted a corner of the cloth. A plump loaf of bread, with a small crock of Firiel's favorite berry jam, and three apples that she had traded a bundle of turnips for at the farm of Baran and Lómë, her nearest neighbors. Her smile grew larger.

"Oi, what'er we 'ave here?"

Andreth's smile dropped, and her feet pulled to a sudden stop as her eyes lifted, meeting the level gaze of a man. Ragged, unkempt hair covered his head, and an unshaven beard nearly hid his face. His clothes, ragged and worn, looked as if they had not seen a washer's tub since they had been drawn from the loom. Through his beard, she guessed he was neither old nor young, perhaps the age her own father would be now, if he had not been slain in the War of Wrath, though his eyes were not as kind as she remembered her father's to have been. Indeed, the eyes of this man were cold, and even fierce.

She gulped stiffly. "Good afternoon to you, sir," she said, wishing her voice did not tremble so. He was, after all, a simple traveler as she, merely going in the opposite direction. She moved to pass him, but the man moved to block her path, his arms akimbo, and his eyes fixed coldly upon her.

She drew back a step, struggling to keep the fear from her face.

"I don't think it'd be such a good idea to let you pass," he said. "I think you've got somethin' I 'aven't had in a long time."

The man chuckled, but the laughter was without humor, and his eyes were hard and dark.

"'Ow old 'er you?" he growled.

Andreth gulped fiercely, and stepped back. "Nineteen," she returned.

"_Nineteen_," he purred. His voice softened, but his expression did not as his eyes roved up and down her slender, young body.

A chill iced down Andreth's spine.

"You're a pretty one," he growled. "Prettier than an elf woman, even." But his words, rough and menacing, did not sound like praise.

Since she had come of age, she had not been ignorant of the glances men often cast her way. With her waist length hair and lithe, womanly form, it was no wonder that men's eyes often followed her. But never before, had any man studied her body in such a brash, calculating manner. She felt stripped to the skin before the man's bold gaze, and shuddered at the sensation.

The day had been warm today, and Andreth had worn a light green dress, the sleeves full and open, and the neck scooped low, clinging to the edges of her slender shoulders. She had felt no need for a cloak, and now, she wished she had brought one.

"Eh," he snarled. "I'm mighty hungry."

Feeling her heart stiffening with fear, Andreth drew back another step, but the man advanced on her making up ground.

"Here," she blurted, extending the basket to him. "You may have all that I carry. Bread, jam and apples. If you are hungry, you need it more than-"

A sharp gasp tore from her lips as the man tore the handle from her hands, flinging it and its contents to the side of the road, where the food spilled out of the cloth, the apples rolling in different directions.

"It ain't food I'm hungry for, girl," he said, and as he sneered, his eyes continuing to study her like a wolf, ready to tear into its helpless prey, a wild chill of terror iced down Andreth's spine.

"Please," she pleaded, hearing now the wild trembling in her voice that she made no effort to mask. "Do not hurt me."

She felt a tear spill from an eye and trail down her cheek, but the man before her only sneered more darkly.

He turned suddenly, glancing over his shoulder down the path that bent away into the trees as if looking for something. Andreth took this as a slim chance of escape, and turned, dashing down the pathway, as swiftly as her trembling feet could take her. But a moment later, she heard the heavy pounding of boots closing rapidly in on her from behind.

A hard grip seized her wrist then, and as he ripped her back, a sharp scream escaped her, though it was immediately cut off as the man snaked an arm, hard and muscled, around her waist, and clamped a filthy-smelling hand over her mouth.

"None o' that now," he snarled against her hair.

For a moment, he pressed his face further into her hair, and inhaled deeply drinking in her scent, then exhaled, his breath hot against her scalp.

"Mmm," he growled low. "Yer all mine now, pretty one, to do with as I please."

Fear surged through her blood, and Andreth struggled, fighting against the man's hold, but his grip was like iron, and he held her tightly against his chest as he lifted her easily, despite her struggles, and carried her off the road into the thick of the forest.

The cold green shadows of the forest enclosed her immediately, and noise grew muffled.

Even if she screamed now, the sound would not carry far.

Despair washed over Andreth. She had heard whispered stories of the horror that she was about to endure, the fierce, piercing pain, and the tearing shame. But it had always been a distant horror story, not fully real, like the frightful, whispered stories of Morgoth, and darkness, fear that was distant, and could never reach her. Had her own father not died to keep such unspeakable evil from finding her?

She continued to fight the man despite his strength, kicking and struggling, but it did little, and the man only laughed as he carried her further into the dark green shadows. For a fleeting moment, she tore her face away from his grip, and released another wild scream that slashed the forest like a knife before his hand snatched her mouth again, his fingernails cutting into her cheek.

"No one c'n hear ya," he snarled into her hair, his breath hot against her scalp. "Don't scream again, 'er I'll cut yer throat!"

He released her mouth then, and backhanded a stinging lash across her face.

Andreth staggered, her cheek burning from the harsh strike. She tried to stumble away again, but the man lunged forward and seized both her wrists in his fists.

"Please," she begged one more time as the man, his lips drawn back from clenched teeth, pulled her around, forcing her to face him. She could feel the tears streaming down her face now. "Let me go."

"I don't think so," the man snarled, and pulled her roughly to him.

...oOo...

Elros sighed as the rhythmic canter of his horse's hooves filled his ears. The forest he and his brother Elrond found themselves traveling through as they neared the welcome havens of Mithlond, did little to ease the comfort of his troubled mind. Perhaps he should not feel this way. The War of Wrath was over, and peace was again within his grasp. Why then, did he feel so troubled and confused? Why was the choice he had been granted not as easy for him as it was for his brother?

"Well," a cheery voice at his right called out, and the clops of Elrond's horse quickened as his elder brother drew even with him. "You seem to be deep in thought."

Elrond grinned. "What are you thinking of, little brother?"

At this, Elros could not help but laugh. He always did, whenever Elrond called him _little brother_. In truth, Elrond was indeed his senior in both begetting and in birth, but by less than a few minutes for each.

"Nothing," he chuckled. "And everything." His smile faded. "Life, itself, I suppose."

Wordlessly, Elrond reached out, and clapped a hand on his arm, nodding his understanding.

Elros smiled back. In truth, he knew Elrond understood him better than any could. For the two brothers had endured much together.

"Do you remember Mother, and Father?" he asked at last.

Elrond nodded.

"I vaguely remember them," Elros said. " I think I saw father from a distance, though, during the war, aboard Vingilot." He smiled faintly. "The dragons did not know what struck them."

Elrond grinned at this. "And you still see our parents every evening and morning," Elrond reminded him with a grin, to which Elros nodded.

"You remember Maglor, and Maedhros," Elrond said.

Elros heaved a sigh. "They were good men." He paused and shugged. "To us."

He looked over at his brother. "What do you think Eru Ilúvatar thinks of them? What were their fates? Surely their mercy to us must count for something."

Elrond met his brother's gaze. "I have often thought that question myself. But I do not think I know enough to say. The All Father knows the end from the beginning, and sees with eyes that we do not. But of one thing I am certain. If their father-," Elrond's mouth tightened to a fine line. "Fëanor had not required them to take that- that _oath," _he growled the word, "to regain the Silmarils, they would not have-," Elrond drew in a breath, "done as they did. They were not as those who gain pleasure from causing misery. They did not worship Morgoth in their hearts."

Elros nodded his agreement, then lifted his eyes to the green of the forest that surrounded them. Light filtered down through the trees, and birds flitted here and there, speaking to one another in their bright, cheerful tongue.

"There is more that troubles you, isn't there?" Elrond asked softly, and again Elros glanced at his brother.

"Yes," he returned.

"What?"

Elros swallowed, and drew in a breath. "Our-" he paused. "Our choice," he said at last.

Elrond's countenance grew somber. He did not need Elros to explain further. The choice they had been given, as _Peredhil_, as half-elven, the sons of Eärendil and Elwing, to choose between the life of a mortal, and that of an immortal.

"You have not chosen yet?" Elrond asked softly.

"I know you have already," Elros admitted.

"I feel I have much more to give, to both Elves and Men, if I choose the life of the elder kin," Elrond said, to which Elros nodded.

"And I cannot fault you for that. But for me, I feel I cannot choose now. I feel that I have to wait for-" Elros sighed.

Elrond furrowed his brow, the thoughtful, patient look Elros knew so well. "For what?" he asked.

Elros opened his mouth. But his answer was cut off as a sharp scream, distinctly feminine, tore through the air, before it was immediately cut off.

"Wha-" Elrond gasped, as Elros shot a wild eyed look at him, then turned forward, and spurred his horse into a gallop.

Behind him, he could hear the hooves of Elrond's mount pounding after him, and could hear his brother shouting something, though the wind, whipping past his ears, tore the sound away.

Around a sharp bend in the path, Elros pulled his mount to a sudden halt, and rose in the stirrups, his chest heaving as he glanced wildly around. The sound had come from this spot, he was sure.

The moment his eyes found the fallen basket and its contents, another fleeting, though wild scream tore through the trees from the forest to his left, and Elros needed no more urging as he flung himself from the back of his horse, and plunged into the forest.

"Elros, take a care!" He finally heard Elrond behind him, gasping and breathless. "Have your sword ready!"

Elros did not break stride, plunging past branches that scratched his face and arms like scythes but he did heed his brother's warning, and drew his sword from its sheath.

...oOo...

Andreth struggled to wrench away from the foul taste of her attacker's mouth, fighting to release a scream as she crumpled to the ground beneath his weight. Roots and stones dug roughly into her back, gouging deeply for the weight of her attacker upon her.

His hands released her wrists, and she began to claw at him, tearing at his face and hair, but the man did not seem to notice, for his strength outmatched her own, his fingers seizing the neckline of her dress.

Sobs began to wrench in Andreth's lungs as the sound of ripping cloth assaulted her ears.

"_Get away from her_!"

The strong, masculine cry, feral in its rage, seemed to fall from the sky, as if shouted from the lips of one of the Valar, and the man's weight immediately lifted off of her. It took Andreth a fraction of a moment to realize her attacker had not risen of his own accord. Behind him, a man with long, dark hair gleaming in the filtered forest light, lifted the man off of her, using only one arm, for he clutched a gleaming blade in the other, and flung him across the clearing.

Her attacker fell clumsily, but was on his feet in a moment, a short knife appearing suddenly in his hand as he snarled, uttered a foul curse, and threw himself at her rescuer.

The flash of a sword gleamed in the wane light of the forest, followed by a splash of red, and her attacker fell, his head half severed, to the ground.

A moment later, another man, close in appearance to the first, appeared from the shadows of the trees, stopping short at the sight of the dead man.

"All is well, now, brother," her savior said, before turning to her, his chest still heaving from his fight. He met her eyes for a fleeting moment, but then glanced quickly away, a dark flush coloring his cheeks.

It was then that she noted the peaked tip of his ear. This man, she realized, and his brother as well, who stood beyond him, his own eyes diverted from her, were of the Elder Race. They were elves.

Her rescuer's jaw grew taut, and he spoke, clearly abashed, his eyes still turned from her. "Maiden," he choked. "you have clearly endured a harrowing thing. Is there aught we can do for you?"

Andreth swallowed and looked down at herself, at the skirts of her gown, tangled about her bare thighs, and at the neckline of her dress, torn several jagged inches, exposing the flesh between her young breasts. Her hand lifted, trembling furiously, and caught the edges of her torn bodice, pulling it closed. A sudden weakness seized her then, the realization at how close she had come to being ravished, and she began to sob again, wild wrenching sobs. She rolled over, clambering to her knees, and began to retch violently between sobs, vomiting onto the ground, until nothing was left, though dry heaves continued to clench her belly long after all the contents of her stomach were expelled.

In the midst of her sobs, she became aware of a hand upon her back, gentle, despite its size and obvious strength, and a warm, solid presence kneeling at her side.

"Forgive me," the elven man's gentle voice murmured. "Forgive me for not arriving sooner."

"Forgive you?" she choked. Still clutching her torn bodice with one hand, she turned toward him. The elven man, who had saved her virtue, and likely her life, knelt at her side, a penitent look upon his face. His eyes were gentle, soft and grey, and his face was strong, the lines of his jaw and cheekbones honed as if his face had been carved of marble. His features appeared as if they should be fierce, almost warlike, but they were not. For his eyes softened his features as he studied her tenderly, his gaze filled with concern.

Andreth felt her face growing warm, and dropped her eyes. "At no thought to your own safety, you saved a maiden's virtue. You and your kinsman." She nodded past him toward the other elven man who stood over the dead body, almost as if he were guarding it, daring it to rise again. "I owe you many thanks."

"Did you know him, young one?" her rescuer asked, and Andreth shook her head, looking away as she shuddered.

"A bandit," his brother said, kicking a foot dismissively. "After all we endured, still there are those who follow Morgoth in their hearts."

She could feel another sob rising in her throat, and at her side, her rescuer seemed to sense her need, his hand gently moving to her shoulder.

Andreth looked up again into his eyes, grey as the sea, and just as soothing. It was a strange thing for a man who looked no older than herself, to call her _young one_. Though, she realized, these two elven men may have already lived for ages. To them, she _was_ only a child.

"Fear no more, maiden," the elven man at her side said, and his voice was gentle, soothing, deep and warm. His was not the voice of one speaking to a child. "You are no longer in danger. It will be our honor to see you safely to your home." And his voice so calmed her, that Andreth, though she had not known him before this moment, let her head fall against his shoulder, still shuddering, though her sobs did not return. His arms went willingly around her, and his hand touched her hair.

"Where is your home?" he murmured, and his breath, soft and warm, brushed her cheek.

"I was born among the few men to take refuge in these lands near Mithlond, before the War of Wrath," she said brushing her tears away. "My mother, Ailë, died giving me life. I live with a friend. Firiel is her name."

"Your father?"

"His name was Beldir. He fell in the war." Andreth choked against his shoulder.

"I am sorry," the elven man murmured. "We too, lost our father and mother when we were young."

Andreth drew in a ragged breath. The elf's garments smelled sweet; like deep forests and pine, mingled with the deeper, musky, masculine scent of his own body. Something soft and warm and deep stirred within her, and Andreth longed to bury her face against his sturdy shoulder, to drink him in, forgetting the terror of these last minutes. But it would not be seemly. She did not know him, not even his name. And he was an elf. Loftly, beautiful, and untouchable, like the stars.

A finger, gentle as the touch of a dove's wing, brushed her cheek. "And your name, gentle lady?"

Andreth started at this. He had called her _lady_, a title reserved only for noble women. "I-" she stammered. "I am Andreth."

"Andreth," the elven man murmured. Her name, upon his tongue, sounded sweet in her ears. "It is a fair name. No doubt you were named for the wise maiden, named _Saelind_ by the elves, who was the daughter of Boromir of the House of Bëor."

"Yes," she lifted her head. "The same. Through my father Beldir I am a descendant of Bregor, her brother. Her kindred, though broken by the Battle of Sudden Flame, were not all lost."

"Then we are well met, lady," he said. "For we are kin to the family of Lord Aegnor, who loved and was loved by your namesake, we being also of the House of Finwë."

"And our grandsire, the father of our mother, was a descendant from the noble house of Bëor," his brother added in a gentle voice from his place beside the fallen robber. "So it appears that we are kin, however distant."

Andreth furrowed her brow at this, her thoughts racing at his words, and suddenly, she felt small, and very much like a child. Chagrined, she eased away from the elven man, and looked down, suddenly too abashed to meet his eyes.

"_Ai_, my lords," she breathed, shamed beyond words that she had behaved thusly before such great Elven lords. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, where she could still taste the acrid vomit she had coughed up in front of him. Heat burned in her face. "You speak of Dior Eluchíl. I did not know you were-," She stopped. She could speak no more.

"Ah, indeed. I beg your forgiveness. For I failed to tell you our names," the elven lord said, his voice reassuring as he reached out, and touched her shoulder, his fingers now the only contact between them. "I am Elros Eärendilion, and this is Elrond, my elder brother."

She looked up. The second elven man dipped his head toward her. Elrond's eyes were kind, and sea grey like Elros', but did not carry the same softness that she could see in his younger brother's eyes.

She turned again, meeting Elros' eyes, her cheeks hot.

"The twin sons of Eärendil and of Elwing, the _Peredhil_," she breathed. "You are the mighty lords who fought so valiantly in the War of Wrath. I did not know. I beg you, forgive me."

"Andreth, daughter of Beldir," Elros said gently, a smile touching his lips, "I assure you, you have done nothing of which you need be forgiven."

He held out a hand in offering. "Come, Lady Andreth," he offered gently. "Will you permit us to see you safely to your home?"

Still clutching her torn bodice, Andreth studied his hand for a long moment. It was a strong, sturdy hand, the fingers and thumb lean and firm, and no doubt had wielded his blade in the War of Wrath as skillfully as he had, here. Yet, as she lifted her own, so small compared to his, and slipped it into his hand, it felt soft, its grip firm and strong, yet gentle.

Elros' smile reached his eyes, as he stood, and helped her, carefully, to her feet.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

From where she sat upon Lord Elrond's mount, side saddle behind the elven lord, Andreth saw the worry in Firiel's eyes as the trees of the forest fell away, and their small hut came into view, perched on a windswept knoll, the sky overhead rolling over with grey clouds.

The old woman had been kneeling in the garden weeding, when they had come from the trees, but now the old woman caught up her walking stick and rose, brushing her dirt-covered hands against her skirt. A brisk wind caught at the white hair of her old friend, causing silver tresses that had not been caught back in the graceful knot of her hair, to dance about her lined face. Behind Firiel, the door of the hut was open, and Andreth caught a peek of a cheery fire in the hearth, a promise of warmth, and comfort.

Beyond the hut and past the modest barn, the long grassy slope fell away to the distant shores. Even as the clouds rolled nearer, darkening the sky, the sea was still visible, white waves rolling against the sand, the vast blue of the water stretching away beyond the horizon.

This sight had always been a comforting one to her, the return home to Firiel whether in winter or summer, in gladness, or sorrow. Nothing was unendurable as long as she could return to this.

"Andreth!" Firiel called as the two horses trotted nearer. She hurried forward to meet them as well as she could on her aging legs, her gnarled stick tapping the ground as she came. "I was growing worried. There is a storm coming."

Her gaze moved from Elrond to Elros upon his own horse, and back to Andreth. "Who are these men? And why-"

"Firiel!" Andreth cried, clasping Lord Elrond's proffered hand as she clambered down from his horse, and hurried to the old woman, letting Firiel catch her in an embrace. "These men, these elven lords, they are good and kind. They saved me."

Behind her, the two elves dismounted, standing at the heads of their horses.

Firiel pursed her thin lips at Andreth's words. "Saved-?" she queried. Her eyes moved from Andreth to the two elven men, and back again to the girl.

"Yes," Andreth said, shivering at the memory, and Firiel reached out, grasping her hand to comfort her.

"Then they are welcome here as friends, and as guests," Firiel said, draping a comforting arm around Andreth's shoulders.

She turned now to Elrond and Elros. "Please, good elven lords. We have little to offer, but a fierce storm is coming." She lifted her eyes toward the sky, which was darkening with boiling clouds as moments passed. "You are welcome to stay until it passes. You are most welcome to harbor your horses in our stable. It is small, but there is only the milk goat, and the walls are sturdy enough to endure the winds. What little food we have, we will willingly share. Will you honor our humble home with your presence?"

"We would be the ones to be honored, madame," Elrond answered with a gracious nod of his head. "Thank you, for your generosity."

Though it was Elrond who spoke, Andreth's eyes sought Elros. His gaze, first upon Firiel, turned as his brother spoke, and found Andreth's gaze. A smile touched his lips as their eyes met. The growing wind caught at his dark hair and his braids, brushing them back over his firm shoulders.

"Please make use of what provender we have for your horses," Firiel offered. "I must see to my young friend."

The two elven lords bowed their thanks, and turned away, leading their horses toward the small animal shelter behind the house. But Elros' eyes did not leave Andreth until Firiel turned her gently away, and guided her toward the open door of the house.

...oOo...

"So you see," Andreth choked, her eyes down as she finished the story of her ordeal, Lord Elrond's cloak folded in her lap, and her leaf green gown, the front savagely torn, folded upon the wooden floor beside her. "The man would have ravished me, perhaps even killed me, had not Lords Elros and Elrond come in time to save me."

"Oh, my child," Firiel breathed. Her aging friend's troubled face studied hers against the backdrop of the white linen curtain Firiel had tacked from one wall to the other across the narrow space of their hut, a temporary separation between their sleeping area, and the warm, firelit area where they sat now. Firelight reflected off the tortured lines of her face as she dropped to the rough wooden stool opposite from Andreth where the maiden sat beside the hearth as the final words of her ordeal left her lips.

Firiel pushed a cup of steaming tea into the young woman's hands, despite Andreth's objections that she could eat nothing for now.

Tears shimmered in the old woman's eyes. "I should not have let you go out alone today. I should have gone with you."

Andreth studied the small wooden cup of tea, the liquid shuddering slightly as her hand trembled. She lifted the cup to her lips and took a grateful sip, though the spicy sweet taste of fresh mint was lost upon her tongue.

She touched a hand to the neckline of the white sleeping gown that Firiel had helped her into, running a hand along the lace of the collar as if testing it, to determine if it too, had been torn; but it was whole, and unmarred.

"No, Firiel." She shuddered at the memory of the fury in the eyes of the man who had attacked her. "Likely he would have killed you. He would not have been dissuaded. He attacked Lord Elros with a knife, and would have killed him, but for Lord Elros' sword which cut him down."

Firiel drew in a ragged breath.

Beyond the walls of their hut, the wind was increasing, whistling through the trees of the nearby forest.

"Thank the Valar for such men as Lord Elros, and his brother," Firiel murmured. "Indeed, they are as noble as the tales tell."

A knock upon the door lifted both their heads, and Firiel rose, hurrying to undo the latch. She drew the rough wooden door open, which let in wind, and a lash of sudden rain along with the two elven men, who stood near the door, hesitant, even after Firiel shut it behind them, their tunics, leggings, boots, and the long dark tresses and braids of their hair dripping rain water upon the floorboards where they stood.

Elros' eyes immediately sought her own where she sat at the hearth, and Andreth found herself flushing hotly, aware of her intimate attire.

She dropped her eyes to the cup in her hand, taking another nervous sip as Firiel hurried again to the hearth, and drew the dark pot from its hook where it had been simmering over the flames, and hastily ladled stew into two wooden bowls.

"Please sit, my lords," Firiel nodded to the rough hewn table beneath the shuttered window. "I trust your horses are comfortable? There was enough provender for them?"

"Yes, thank you," Elrond said, and he and his brother obligingly moved to the table, taking the rough wooden bench that sat beside it.

"It is most gracious of you to offer us shelter during this storm," Elros added, his voice, rich and deep, warming Andreth more fully than the fire beside her.

"It was most gracious of you to protect my dear Andreth," Firiel countered warmly, carrying the bowls of stew to the table, and setting them before the two elves.

"Forgive the simpleness of our food, and our lodgings," she added. "It is not as rich as the fare you would have had, had you achieved your destination."

"We were destined for Mithlond," volunteered Elrond as his brother lifted the wooden spoon from the bowl and tasted it. "We would not have made it before the storm hit, and without your hospitality, we and our mounts would have been forced to weather the storm in the forest, with nothing but the waybread in our packs."

An expression of unfeigned delight touched Elros' lips as he dipped his spoon for another generous mouthful.

"You do not give yourself enough credit, Madame," he insisted, lifting his eyes to Firiel. "This is delicious."

Elrond took a bite of the stew as well, then nodded his own agreement as he, too, continued to eat with relish.

Firiel smiled. "Do not thank me," she said, and gestured back toward Andreth, still seated quietly beside the fire. "For she is the one whom you should thank. She made up the stew this morning. It has been simmering all day."

Again the sea grey eyes of Lord Elros lifted and found hers, and across the space between them, Andreth felt the warmth of his gaze.

"Thank you, Lady Andreth," he said, and his voice warmed her heart.

Andreth's eyes fell to the rough hewn floorboards beneath her bare feet. Her heart stirred at the way Elros called her _lady_, as if she were a noble woman of high birth. "You are most welcome, my lord," she said softly.

"When you have eaten your fill, my lords," Firiel nodded to the curtained partition, there are beds prepared for you. I have heard that elves do not require as much rest as we mortals, but even so, your journey, as well as your exertions in defending Andreth, must have been taxing."

"But these beds would be yours," Elrond observed. "We would not think to turn good women out of their own chambers for our comfort."

"Indeed," continued Elros, turning his eyes upon Firiel, and offering her a reassuring smile. "We will be comfortable before the fire, if you will permit us to rest here." To this, Elrond nodded.

Firiel smiled at this, and dropped her eyes before turning her glance to meet Andreth's. "Indeed my lords," she said, her voice softening. "You are truly as noble as the tales say."

...oOo...

The firelight burned low, flickering down to mere coals as the storm beyond the walls of the small, though sturdy hut weakened and faded to a steady rain.

Elros lay with his hands behind his head, studying the play of light across the ceiling, and listening to the steady drum beat of rain upon the roof.

He was glad the stable was as sturdy and warm for their horses, and for the good natured milk goat they had met there. He grinned at the memory.

He glanced beside him at his brother. Elrond lay with his hands behind his head in the same attitude as Elros, his eyes fixed upon the ceiling, though Elros could see from the glazed, unfocused look within his brother's eyes, that he was in the realm of dreams. Dreaming, Elros mused, of the elusive elven maiden that often haunted his dreams.

Elrond had spoken of her before, a maiden with silver hair, and a crown of golden leaves upon it. Near enough to see her features distinctly, but too far to reach out, and touch. For always, a wide rift stood between them. Who she was, he could not say, for Elrond claimed never to have seen such a maiden before, though her features were distinct, and he claimed that he would know her in a moment, if ever he did meet her.

Elros had never had such dreams, he mused, not of fair, ghostly elf maidens at least, as he turned his eyes again upon the ceiling, his thoughts wandering now, to the mortal maiden, Andreth.

Heaving a sigh, Elros sat up, resting his forearms upon his knees as he studied the white linen partition, beyond which she, and her aging friend Firiel, slept.

He had not met the girl before this day, yet something in her seemed familiar, as if he had known her far longer.

She was noble of bearing, slender and lovely, with the gentle loveliness of an elleth, despite the intriguingly soft curves of her delicate ears. Truly, it was no surprise that she would be a descendent of the great house of Bëor.

Hoping that what he did was not beyond the boundaries of propriety, Elros clambered to his feet, and moved to the edge of the partition, pausing a moment before he reached a hand out, and drew it aside.

Without the light of the dying fire, the room beyond was cooler, and dark, though his elven eyes had little difficulty in making out the two sleeping forms in the two small beds, one against each wall.

Between the two beds sat a low table, a single book laying upon it, face down, as if one of the two women had been reading it, and had set it down thusly before falling asleep, and wished to keep her place.

Furthest from him, slept the kindly matron, Firiel, and closest to him, her golden brown hair splayed across the pillow as she slept, lay Andreth, her eyelids closed over her eyes in the manner of mortals when they slept. It was an aspect that was both intriguing, and lovely, he decided.

Her face was turned toward him, her hair spilling about her shapely face in waves, like threads of spun gold and copper. One hand lay upon the pillow beside her face, the delicate, tapering fingers slightly curled, while the other lay across the coverlet over her narrow stomach.

Beneath the thin coverlet, her young breasts rose and fell with each soft breath, and she shifted in her sleep, her forehead furrowing slightly as if in thought. A moment later, a soft gasp escaped her, and her face grew pained.

"No," she whispered in her sleep. "Please do not hurt me." And in an instant, he knew of what she dreamed.

Without further thought, Elros ducked into the cool darkness of the ladies' sleeping room, letting the cloth fall back behind him, enclosing him in silver darkness, and moved to Andreth's side, touching the hand that lay upon her pillow.

"Do not fear, fair one," he breathed as he lowered himself to one knee, his fingers stroking her open palm. "I am here. I will not let harm come to you."

Immediately, the pain upon her sleeping face dissolved into relieved peace. "_Lord Elros_," her soft lips breathed.

"Yes," he returned, unable to deny the sensation of warmth and tenderness that flowed through his body at the softened tones that spilled from her sleeping lips as she spoke his name. "I am here. Do not fear."

"I won't," the sleeping maiden vowed.

"Good," he praised, before withdrawing his hand, and stepping back a step.

The peaceful aspect upon her face did not change, and Elros retreated to the curtain.

He drew it aside, and passed through to the flickering chamber where Elrond rested, but he turned back for one last fleeting look into the darker chamber. To his chagrin, he noted Firiel's open eyes studying him.

"Madame Firiel," he gulped. "I did not mean to- my intentions were not-," he cleared his throat. "Forgive me."

Firiel smiled at this. "I saw how you comforted her. There is nothing to forgive, my lord," she murmured, then turned from him, and closed her eyes once more.

With a sigh, Elros let the curtain fall shut. He stood before it, hesitant, then turned, and moved near his brother, lowering himself to the stiff wooden boards of the floor once more, and weaving his fingers together behind his head.

Clearing his mind and heart, Elros willed himself to sleep, fading slowly into the realm of his dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Morning sunlight spilled over Andreth's face. She felt it beneath her eyelids, and slowly rose to the waking world. For a moment, she let herself lay against her pillow, indulging in the luxurious half-wakefulness of her fading dreams. Despite all that she had endured the day before, she seemed strangely at peace, and unafraid. With a sigh, she clasped her hands, running the thumb of her right hand against the palm of her left, feeling a lingering, comforting warmth there that she did not wish to lose. But then as if from far away, across the chasm that separated her fading dreams from the waking world, she heard a bleat through the window, and sat up in alarm.

"Oh, I have slept late again," she moaned, clambering out of bed. "Lavaniel's udder will be bloated, and she will be cross with me again!"

The curtain Firiel had hung the night before to give a measure of privacy between the ladies and their elven guests, had been taken down. Without her help, Andreth realized in consternation, and the single room of their small hut was open to her view. It mattered little, for the two elven men, she noted with a fleeting sensation of regret, were gone, and so Andreth set about hastily dressing, selecting from the basket under her bed, clean underwrappings, and a sturdy dress of earthen colors, for she would not be going out today, and would busy herself all day with chores. Firiel, she could see, had left her a bowl of porridge, and must have eaten and fed their guests while Andreth slept. Even the dishes had been washed without her, for three wooden bowls and spoons lay upon a cloth at the other end of the table to dry, still wet from washing.

She caught up the bowl and ate the sweet, gritty porridge standing, turning briefly to the book she had lain down yesterday before setting out on her errand that had ended up being so fateful. _Of Thingol and Melian_, the binding read.

She shook her head, for she had no time right now, and shoveled the last bite into her mouth before hurrying to the wash basin, still half filled with warm water, and scrubbed her bowl and spoon clean before setting it with the others.

From which bowl, she wondered fleetingly, had Lord Elros eaten?

She shook her head to herself, for indeed the question was unimportant. She moved to the door, and lifted the latch, drawing it open as the sun washed over her. The world fairly gleamed as it always did, here on this knoll after a storm. Firiel's familiar figure was bent over in the garden, and Andreth moved toward her, now hastily binding her long hair into a single braid over one shoulder. There was no sign of either of the elven lords, and Andreth's heart felt a pang of loss at their departure. "Good morning, child!" Firiel called merrily without looking over her shoulder as she knelt amongst the young turnip plants.

"I am sorry I slept late," Andreth said, binding the end of her braid as Firiel turned to look up at her with a smile. "I wish I could have said goodbye to our guests."

Firiel's brows raised. "_Goodbye_, child? Bless me, they haven't gone yet!"

Andreth's brow furrowed. "But-,"

"Lord Elrond kindly offered to go hunting for us, promising to bring back something nice and fat for our evening meal, and Lord Elros-,"

Firiel let the sentence hang in the air as she nodded, humor in her eyes, to the small barn beyond their house. Andreth opened her mouth, silent, before she turned and trotted toward their small animal shelter, little more than a shed. The door stood half ajar, and Andreth stopped at the opening, feeling a sudden sense of shyness wash over her. From within, she could hear the soft whicker of horses, and the peaceful, rhythmic sound of equine jaws crunching on a mangerful of oats.

Lord Elros must surely be in with them, Andreth decided, for this was where Firiel had nodded. Perhaps he was brushing their coats, or speaking to them in that sweet, mystical tongue of elves, which she understood, a little, but rarely spoke herself.

Brushing at the front of her dress, Andreth drew in a breath, and stepped through the door, looking first to the horses.

But Elros wasn't there.

Another bleat cast her eyes toward Lavaniel's stall, and her mouth fairly dropped open before she hastily shut it again.

Seated beside the goat upon the small three legged stool she used, sat the lordly elf, Elros, his finely embroidered sleeves rolled to his elbows, busily milking the patient goat, the bucket beneath her nearly empty udder, half full of milk.

"My lord?" she breathed, uncertain what to make of what she saw. Lord Elros stopped, a stream of milk cutting off suddenly as he turned and met her eyes, a smile finding his lips.

"Good morning to you, my lady," he greeted, and rose from the stool to his feet. He placed a hand upon his chest, and offered her gracious a nod of his head.

"And to you, my lord." She bit her lip. Such an odd thing it was, to find an elven man seated upon such a crude stool in a humble animal shelter, milking a goat, only to rise and bow at her coming as if to a queen. It was all so much, and so strange. "I," she stammered, uncertain what else she could say, "I usually milk Lavaniel."

At this, a penitent look came over Elros' face. "Did you wish to do it yourself? Forgive me if you did. Madame Firiel said it was your first task of the day, and I wished to do something to repay my debt for your hospitality. I have never milked such a creature, any creature before, and it is quite a novel duty to perform."

Andreth drew in a breath, her mouth trembling as she struggled to absorb his words. "You-," she stammered, "you_ enjoyed_ milking our goat?"

Elros pursed his lips, seeming to be uncertain of her expression, before Andreth put a hand over her mouth, and fought back a laugh. The two horses looked up from their places to cast curious glances at her before returning to their own food.

"Oh, my lord," she choked, "It is not so novel a thing to me, as it was to you," she said, struggling to calm herself.

His expression eased, and he released a tentative chuckle. "I supposed it was a strange thing to see me here, milking your goat."

"Indeed," she said, nodding merrily, and their eyes held for a moment before both of them broke into a shared laugh.

"Forgive me for being so inhospitable," she offered, still laughing. "I am not ungrateful, truly."

"Not at all," he returned, his eyes dancing with merriment. "I am glad to have done something to cause you to laugh, my lady."

Andreth's laughter eased at this, though her smile remained. "Why do you call me a _lady_, my lord? I am not nobly born."

Elros dropped his eyes, the gesture endearing to her. "It suits you," he said. "For you are a lady in my eyes."

He looked up again. "Do you wish me not to-"

"No, no, if it pleases you, you may-" Andreth paused, blushing at how quickly she had interrupted him, not wishing to admit that she grew warm when he called her _lady_, and longed to hear the word from his lips as often as he wished to speak it. "I-" She sighed. "I must take the milk to the house now," she said, nodding to the bucket. "If you are finished-,"

"Oh, yes," Elros said, and reached down, catching up the rope handle, and lifting it. "Where do you wish me to put it?"

"Just inside the door, for now," she said. "I will show you." She drew back out the door, to which Elros nodded, and followed her.

"Your mission to Mithlond is not urgent?" she asked as the two of them walked together toward the house.

"Not so much that we could not aid two gentle women, who have shown us much kindness."

"But it was you who showed me the first kindness. You owe us nothing, Lord Elros."

"Then if you must," he said with a sidelong smile that caused Andreth to smile again, "attribute it to our manly pride that we cannot leave without giving you some service in return."

Firiel, she could see, was still working in the garden, amongst the turnips, but her back was to them, and the old woman did not seem to notice the elf lord and the maiden walking together. Andreth and her companion rounded the corner of the house, and Firiel disappeared from their view. Andreth pushed the door in, and stepped inside, nodding for Elros to follow.

"Set it here," she said, gesturing to the table as she took a small cloth from the the cupboard, and shook it loose, covering the bucket as Elros set it down.

"Thank you," she said, unable to meet the elf lord's eyes where he stood here, so close to her.

"You are most welcome," he returned, his voice such that Andreth felt herself swallowing stiffly.

"Come," she offered, and turned away, leaving the house, and stepping into the sunshine. "Sit here, a moment." She dropped to the ground before the small hut, and leaned her back against the stiff wooden boards. "It is most pleasant to sit sometimes, especially on such a morning as this. And simply let everything fill my senses."

Elros obeyed wordlessly, dropping to the ground beside her, both the forest they had come from the day before, and the long, grassy slope down to the waters that made up the Gulf of Lhûn visible from where they sat. He drew in a deep, appreciative breath of the sweet, salty air.

"I suppose my brother has not returned from hunting?"

"Not yet," she said. "But I am certain he will not be long."

"He may take his time," Elros said, and drew in another deep breath. "I could stay here for an age, and never tire of this view. You are most fortunate."

He turned to look at her as he spoke, and again Andreth met his eyes, soft and grey as the sea before she pulled her gaze away, and pointed. "Were you to climb that knoll," she pointed toward the southeast, "you can see Mithlond in the distance. Your destination."

Elros drank in another breath, holding it in as if savoring it, before breathing out again.

"I was born near the sea," Elros said softly, almost to himself. "My brother, also. We have many memories, pleasant and unpleasant."

"Yes," she agreed softly. "So I have read."

Elros looked at her, his eyes brightening. "You enjoy reading?"

"I do, and learning much."

He smiled, his smile one of genuine pleasure. "Then that must have been your book I saw when-," Elros paused, and Andreth thought his face blushed a little. "You are much like your namesake, Lady Andreth."

"So Firiel says," she said with a smile. "And so my father said, before he died."

Elros' smile sobered at this, and his lowered his eyes reverently. "You must miss him," he said softly. "Your mother as well."

"I do," she admitted.

"I understand your feelings," Elros said softly. "I lost my parents as a child as well. Not to death, of course, though you know the story." He gave her a faint smile.

"I do." Andreth nodded. "Though I have no memories of my mother as I do my father, I still miss them both terribly. My father said my mother would sing to me, as I grew in her, and that I seemed to respond to her voice. He said that she chose my name."

"Oh?" he asked leaning forward slightly, and Andreth sensed that he desired to hear more, though he did not wish to push her.

"Andreth is the name my mother gave me as she died," Andreth said, "and my father, for his love of her, honored her choice. He taught me to read, and somewhat of the customs of your people. He also taught me of Andreth herself, of her love of learning, and her goodness, and-" Andreth gulped. "Her endurance."

"Much good has been spoken of her among the elves as well," Elros offered. "Finrod, Aegnor's brother, thought much of her."

"It is a pity she had no children of her own to whom she could pass on her wisdom."

She sensed Elros stiffen slightly beside her, and realized that her voice had carried a faint hint of bitterness in it.

"She did much good, though, among the children of her people, her brother's children, and others," he said, the faintest tone of defensiveness touching his tones.

"Yes," Andreth agreed, her voice barely above a whisper. "She did. And she died, having seen and endured much. Though for all her learning, she never truly understood why-,"

Andreth cut her words off, and bit her lip.

"I know what you would say," Elros offered, his voice grown soft, his initial defensiveness gone, "would you have finished your words. You would say she never truly understood why Aegnor left, why he could not, or would not wed her."

"I have read of all that," Andreth said, almost sharply. "I know the words good Lord Finrod spoke to her. But I, too, perhaps, do not fully understand, any more than she."

A long, deep breath drew into Elros' lungs, and she turned to look at him, though his eyes were not on her.

"And I do not think I could give you a better explanation than her friend Finrod did. But I know Aegnor would have wed her, regardless of the shortness of her life, if he were free, if they lived in peace. Perhaps if his thoughts, his ways of thinking could have bridged the gulf between them, he would have married her, even in war, and spent what little time he had with her."

"_Little time_?"

Elros kept his eyes upon the ground. "Aegnor felt his coming death, and-,"

"The Battle of Sudden Flame did not come until Andreth was an old woman," Andreth said, cutting Elros off. A part of her felt ashamed of what she was doing, though she pushed on. "Decades, nearly a century after they met. Would not a few short years together have been better than nothing?"

"Elves do not think as mortals," he said, his voice soft and even. "Because we do not die, unless by mischance, all the ages of the world are ours, and we do not often act quickly. It is not customary for elves to marry or beget children in times of war. And Aegnor felt the weight of his duty."

"But why could he not think of what _she_ needed? Why could he not become her husband, and fill her life and her heart? Why could he not give her children?"

Elros' eyes did not look up, his brow furrowed with pain, and Andreth wondered for a moment if he was feeling the guilt of Aegnor's actions. Actions that were not even his own. Her heart twinged that she could be so cruel to this kindly elven lord who had saved her virtue only yesterday, and who had made her laugh but moments ago. But she desperately needed to hear his answer.

"Lord Elros," she said, reaching out and touching his bare forearm with her fingers. His flesh was warm, and firm, and as he turned to her, the sinews beneath the skin of his arm rippled gently against her touch. His soft grey eyes found her own, gleaming with a guilt that was not his.

Now, she was the one turning her own eyes away. Andreth strove to infuse her words with gentleness, so that he would not feel as if she were blaming him. "Was it that he feared watching her change? To wither from beauty to age and death, in, what would have seemed to him only moments? Did he wish to spare himself that pain?"

Elros drew in a breath. "What Aegnor did, whatever his reasons, was not done for his own comfort. He did not leave, wishing to cause her a lifetime of loneliness and sorrow. That was never his intent. He loved her."

"Yet he left her," Andreth said.

"Yes," Elros agreed, his voice downcast. "Perhaps he had thought that if he left, she would learn to love a mortal man, and bear his children, growing old with him, not having to endure the shame of whithering, while her husband remained youthful."

"But because she loved Aegnor as he loved her, with that enduring love of which so many elves, and some few mortals are able, their souls were bound, if not their bodies, and she lived and died childless, and bereft of him. She wanted no other. He should have known that."

A deep breath swelled in Elros' chest, and he nodded. "Yes. You are right, my lady. And after all his noble reasons, after all I could say in explanation of his actions, that raw truth stares us both in the face, and cannot be undone."

Elros looked down at his hands, and Andreth did also, seeing his fingers knotted together. For a long moment, he remained silent. Would he say no more? Was he angry with her?

Andreth bit her lip. She was a child, a foolish child, one who could only imagine, vaguely, the wisdom and the understanding of these high, lofty beings who were the elves, ageless as the stars. Why did she think herself worthy to ask questions of him? She looked away and sat in her own silence, expecting Elros to rise, and depart without another word any moment.

"I wish I could give you answers that were more clear to you," Elros said at last, and his voice was soft, absent of even the faintest trace of anger or impatience. "But I do not have all the answers, my lady."

At this, Elros lifted his eyes, and looked at her, the soft sea grey of his gaze meeting hers. His gaze was at once, both intense and achingly tender. "But this truth I do know: _Eru Ilúvatar_ is not cruel. Wherever Andreth is beyond the stars, she loves Aegnor still. And where Aegnor dwells in the Halls of Mandos, he loves her still. Because of this, I do not think that the story of Aegnor and Andreth has ended. Why would the All Father make us so alike to one another, able to love and to care for one another, were there nothing to be shared between our kin beyond the end, when Arda is remade, and Elves and Men and all that are good, dwell together in the bliss beyond bliss? That we cannot yet see beyond the end, does not mean there is nothing there. That we elves can love mortals, that they can love us, that such friendships as we share with them can form between us, there is a reason! Aegnor and Andreth shall be reunited again beyond the ending of Arda. Kindred separated by the gift of Men and the doom of Elves will not be parted forever. I am certain of it."

Andreth felt tears coming to her eyes. He had been so kind to her, and patient with her in return for her impatience and unkindness. "Lord Elros," she said, choking on rising tears. A tear fell from her lashes, and made its way down her cheek. "I have been ungracious. I am sorry."

"For what?" he asked gently. "You have done no wrong. I see you have studied much, and wondered much, and these questions have been in your heart for many years."

He shifted nearer to her, and then his hand rose, and touched her cheek, his thumb brushing the tear away. "Do not be sorry, Lady Andreth," he assured her. He drew his hand back, but he did not look away from her eyes, studying them with concerned tenderness.

"Your eyes," he said at last. "They are green, like- like soft grass in a meadow after a summer rain. I had not noticed before now."

Andreth felt her face growing hot, and she dropped her eyes.

Something nameless and sweet seemed to wrap itself around the elf lord and mortal maiden where they sat side by side against the wall of her hut; something she could not name, that felt both welcoming and frightening, and she wished both to embrace it, and push it violently away at once.

"Elros! Good women!"

The voice, strong and sure, echoed toward them from the forest, and Andreth's eyes jerked up. The tentative threads of emotion between her and Elros faded, vanishing like the last slender threads of a spider's web upon an autumn breeze.

Elrond, Elros' brother was striding across the space between them, smiling. Wind caught at his long hair and braids, and in one hand, he held up a freshly killed rabbit.

"Elrond!" Elros greeted, and leapt to his feet to go to his brother.

Whether he looked back or not as he went, Andreth could not say, for she kept her gaze upon her hands folded in her lap, and did not lift her eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Elros smiled as he carefully adjusted the cinch strap on the saddle of his horse. "There, now, Nórui," he murmured, patting the copper-colored horse's neck as the stallion's head bobbed, and his forefeet drummed the ground. "I know how much you dislike being idle. Doubtless you've chafed all morning, wanting to be on your way. I am sorry. But we have made new friends, have we not?"

In answer, Nórui whickered softly, and pressed his nose into Elros' shoulder. He grinned, and stroked the stallion's sleek, copper neck.

"But you are right," he said, and his smile faded. "It is best that we move on to Mithlond."

His thoughts returned to the face of the mortal maiden Andreth when he had sat at her side in the shade of her humble hut an hour before, and how his heart had seemed to stand still when he had noticed the soft green of her eyes.

_Andreth_, he murmured in his thoughts. The lady, for _lady_ indeed she was, was well named, for she was as wise and thoughtful as her namesake. It was no surprise she had descended from the same noble house as the fair mortal maid who had captured the heart of his kinsman, the elven lord, Aegnor. Her questions earlier, when he and she had sat side by side, had stung him, but they had been well thought, Elros mused. He doubted he understood his kinsman's reasons for leaving any more than this young maiden did. Though he knew it was not because of arrogance, or lack of love for the Andreth of old. Especially if she was as fair as her young namesake.

Perhaps, Elros wondered, Aegnor simply had not known what to do, or where to turn. Before the ill-fated pair had fallen in love, no elf and mortal had learned to love one another.

Elros drew in a breath, and glanced over his shoulder, seeing in the distance, down the slope of the grassy hill that reached down toward the ocean, the form of the maiden Andreth. Her hair was unbound, and floated on the wind like a flag of russet and golden threads. One hand rested upon the back of her white she-goat as the animal grazed contentedly at her side, and the other hand held a slender tome, open in her palm, her face downturned toward its pages.

She was nineteen years old, Elros mused. Had she been born an elven maid, she would still be a child. But Andreth, Elros thought as he watched the flow of her movements slow and smooth, like the graceful flow of a stream dancing in the sunlight, was no child.

_Why then_, Elros wondered, _has she not yet married_? Perhaps it was because she lived removed from others, even other mortals, here with Firiel, upon this high green bluff overlooking the sea. But no, that explanation did not hold, for she and her guardian were not altogether _hermits_. She and Firiel were acquainted with other mortals who lived near. It assuredly was not due to lack of beauty, for even in the simple, homespun dress she wore, Andreth shone with a sweet, starlike radiance, rare, even among elven maidens. And the soft curves of her young body, Elros admitted, his blood pulsing more thickly at the thought, were perfect. Were she a rival for the beauty of Melian the fair Maia, Elros would not be surprised.

Where she stood, far down the grassy slope, Andreth paused, almost as if she felt eyes were upon her, and began to turn her head toward him.

Elros gulped fiercely, and turned back to Nórui. The maiden likely could not see him with her mortal eyes from that distance. Even so, Elros felt his face growing hot. "Yes, my friend," he muttered between his teeth, his smile gone. "We must be on our way, and quickly."

The thump of hooves found his ears as Elrond drew near, guiding his own mount, Celegben, fully saddled and bridled. At Elrond's side, came Firiel, one hand looped through Elrond's arm, the other clutched the knobby head of her walking stick, and over one shoulder, she carried a leather satchel, plump and weighted with unseen contents.

Meeting Elros' gaze, Firiel smiled.

"I am sad to see you go, good lords," Firiel said as she and her escort drew to a stop. "But I know the day is aging, and you must be on your way. I pray you, take this as thanks for your kindness to my dear Andreth, and to the both of us."

She drew her arm from Elrond's. With effort, she pulled the satchel over her head, and handed the long leather handle into his hands. "It is not much. Some goat's cheese from Lavaniel, and a few vegetables and fruits. You were kind to hunt us that rabbit, Lord Elrond. We rarely have such meat, and it will be a feast tonight for Andreth and me."

"This is most generous of you," Elrond returned. He shot a glance at his brother, and in his eyes Elros clearly read that he was reluctant to take the gift from the old woman. For though it was little, it was much to her. Even so, he would accept it, for to refuse would be unkind.

"Indeed," Elros agreed. "We are most grateful. We are in your debt."

"Oh," Firiel sighed, "I fear there is nothing I can do to repay my debt to you. You saved my dearest Andreth from being horribly misused. I wish I could give you mountains of gold and jewels, and even then, it would not be enough." Firiel's smile now faltered.

"Madam," Elros said, noting the regret upon the old mortal woman's face. "You have been most kind. Do not feel that you owe us more than you have given. Your hospitality has been more than generous."

"Ah, my lords, I am well aware of my humble holdings," Firiel murmured with a shake of her head. "You are noble men, and deserve more than I can give. Much like dear Andreth."

The old woman turned and squinted at the distant figure of Andreth. "What do you see, my lords, with your elven sight?"

At Firiel's bidding, Elros looked again toward Andreth. She stood beneath the sunlight, the wind in her hair, and the skirts of her brown homespun dress trailing behind her. An elf maid clad in the finest silks could not make a fairer picture.

"Mistress Andreth," Elrond said. "With your animal as it grazes, my lady."

"Her hair is unbound, and flowing in the wind like a golden flag," Elros finished, his voice grown soft. "And she is reading."

"She is reading," Firiel sighed. "As I thought she would be. I trust you know that she of noble ancestry."

"She told us that she is a descendant of the house of Bëor," offered Elros. "Her ancestor was Bregor, brother of the wise lady Andreth, for whom she is named. Her father, she said, fought and died in the War of Wrath."

"And yet here she lives, with an old woman who is nearing the end of her life, and soon to embrace the doom of men, living off what our small garden makes, and what our patient goat gives us," Firiel said. "She knows from whom she is descended, yet she does not complain; she works hard, and loves me as well as any daughter of my own blood could have."

"No doubt she has been a blessing to you," Elrond observed.

Firiel's eyes grew sad. "She has been. But whether I have been a blessing to her, I cannot say. She deserves better than I can give her."

"You have given her a home, and your own kindness," Elros objected. "No king among elves or men could do better."

Firiel lifted her eyes, smiling again, into the faces of the two elven men. A tear gleamed in one eye.

"My brother speaks the truth," Elrond agreed.

"Tell me, my lords," Firiel's voice was soft, "in Mithlond, there are many learned scholars? Many books?"

"Libraries of books," Elrond answered. "And Círdan, one of the wisest and eldest of all our people, is there. Why do you ask?"

Firiel shook her head. "It is no matter. I must not keep you waiting any longer, my lords." She looked up, and smiled, her eyes still gleaming with unshed wetness. "May the grace of the Valar go with you."

"And may it remain here, with you," the two brothers echoed.

Following his brother, Elros swung up on Nórui's strong back, feeling the horse's eagerness to continue their journey.

His mount needed little urging as they started in a gallop back toward the woods, and the paths that would guide them to their destination.

...oOo...

A companionable silence wrapped itself about the two brothers as they trotted leisurely along the forest pathway, neither feeling the need to break the peace with words. Cheerful birds chirped in the trees, spears of golden sunlight stabbing down through the green canopy above them.

Yet despite the peace he felt, Elros' heart lay heavy in his chest, a nameless, distant melancholy weighing upon it. There was no need for such feelings, he tried to assure himself. All was well in the world. He and his brother were returning home, and the kindly mortals behind them were safe and well.

"Ah, look," Elrond murmured, his voice, quiet though it was, breaking the stillness about them.

Elros looked to where his brother pointed to see the basket they had first seen the day before, which, along with Andreth's screams, had alerted them to her danger.

"In our haste and worry of yesterday, it was left behind," Elrond finished, a note of pity in his voice.

Elros drew his mount to a halt, swinging down, and trotting to the forlorn, forgotten basket, and its contents.

Three apples lay not far apart, and in the midst of them a small crock, sealed at the top, and a loaf of bread, dry now, he realized, as he picked it up, and a crumpled cloth. Gathering the things into the basket, Elros rose.

"These things belong to Lady Andreth," he said, looking up at his brother.

"Do you think they are still good?"

"The crock, probably butter or jam, is unbroken,and the apples are whole, and unbruised. They landed on soft turf. The bread is dry, but- Elrond, you saw what they have. This is a treasure to them."

Elrond looked up the trail, a worried look flashing across his face. "They should be returned to them," he agreed slowly. "But even though we are in no great hurry, still to delay further-"

"I won't cause a delay," Elros promised. "In fact, I will cut through the forest on foot a short way, then return to you in less than a half hour. Guide Nórui along by the reins, and I will catch up to you before you can guess."

Elrond grinned at his brother's enthusiasm. "Very well," he conceded, nodding. "But I will hold you to your promise. If you haven't returned in a half hour, I'll come back looking for you, fearing you've fallen under the spell of some beautiful Maia like Thingol did."

With a final grin, Elros turned, and with the basket in his hand, darted into the trees, his senses guiding him as he ran. It would be only a few minutes, he calculated, to return to Firiel's dwelling, leave the basket, and return to his brother and their horses.

Off the path, the light was dimmer, but still well enough to see by. The trees were kind, and their avian occupants were cheerful. Generous beams of light still speared down through the green branches, and Elros had no need to worry himself.

After a time, the land began to slope downward, and Elros knew he needed to angle to his left if he were to come out on the edge of open land that bordered the open grassy fields of Firiel's dwelling.

Much sooner than Elros expected, the trees began to thin, and he caught a glimpse between them of the grassy fields that surrounded Firiel's hut. Not far to his left, he could hear the hiss and rush of surf as it struck the land, and Elros realized he was nearer to the shore than he had calculated. Elros pulled to a stop. At his feet, wending through the trees, was a small stream merrily making its last journey to the sea, and to his right, he glimpsed through the trees, an open clearing where a small cateract tumbled down over a modest slope of rocks, spilling into a pool of water before trickling away in the stream before him.

The music of the laughing water was welcome to his ears, but above the merry voice of the stream, rose another voice, feminine in its tones, gentle and captivating, though it sang no words of any tongue he could understand, and Elros felt himself entranced, as Thingol must have been to the voice of Melian, he thought in a corner of his mind, as he turned to his right, and made his way toward the fair sound. Like the voice of stars, he thought to himself, if they could make their lovely, silver voices heard.

In a moment, Elros broke out of the trees into the clearing, and the wordless singing abruptly stopped.

At his feet, kneeling upon soft grass at the edge of the small pool, was Andreth, clad in a thin white shift, her bare arms slender and white, gleaming wet with water from her narrow shoulders to her small, shapely hands. They were frozen in the act of scrubbing a garment against the rocks beside her. About her draped over bushes and shrubs, were other articles of women's clothing, drying in the sunlight that warmed this small clearing, including the brown, homespun dress she had been wearing when he last saw her in the morning.

Her eyes were upon him, her mouth opened, though her voice had gone silent. Her hair, he noted, was still undone, spilling about her shoulders in a cascade of gold and bronze. The throat of her shift hung low, well below the delicate ridges of her collarbones. A slender ribbon tied in a bow, crisscrossed through eyelets down the front of her shift between the soft swells of her young, perfect breasts.

Unbidden, his blood began to pulse thickly through his veins at the sight of her as sensations he had never experienced before rushed in a sudden and powerful wave through his body, thickening his blood and stirring him in ways that were both marvelous and mystifying.

A flush darkened Andreth's face, her breath suddenly coming more swiftly, the gentle rise and fall beneath the thin white fabric growing more pronounced.

This did nothing to ease the maddening heat throbbing through Elros' blood, yet with a mighty effort, he tore his eyes away from her, knowing she had not meant for any man to see her thus attired.

"You sing like an elven maid," he muttered, unable, for the moment, to think of anything else to say.

"My lord, Elros," she breathed, and the girl lowered her eyes, "I thought you and your brother were well on your way."

"We found this," he muttered, looking down at last at the basket in his hands. "I thought I would return it, and cut through the forest on foot to save time."

"It is as the tales say," Andreth whispered, "that elves indeed move lightly on their feet. I did not hear you coming."

"Forgive me," Elros spouted. "I did not intend-, that is to say-," He drew in a ragged breath wishing he could cool the heated throbbing of his blood, and let logic and reason again rule his mind. "I am sorry. I saw the waterfall, and heard your voice, and followed it. I did not intend to cause you any embarassment."

"I know, my lord," she said, and though he did not dare to look at her again, he could hear kindness in her voice, and imagined the forgiveness in her bright, green eyes. "Thank you, Lord Elros, for your kindness in returning the basket. I had traded some turnips for Firiel's favorite jam, and the other things. I had feared them lost."

Heaving a deep breath, Elros nodded his acceptance of her thanks, and still with his eyes fixed upon the ground, he set the basket down, and turned away.

"_Ná Elbereth veria le, hir nin," _the mortal maiden said to his back, and Elros gulped at the soft tones of her voice, caressing him almost as if her hand, soft and gentle, brushed lightly over his back. He closed his eyes, quivering inwardly at the imagine sensation.

"May _Elbereth _protect you as well, my lady," he returned softly. And with his eyes focused ahead of him, Elros broke into a trot, back through the forest, and toward the path upon which his brother rode, waiting for him to catch up, as he had promised.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The sun hung low in the western sky, setting the clouds on fire where they hung high over the sea, and touching the fluttering waves of the ocean with flame as Andreth pushed the door of Firiel's hut open, and stepped inside, both hands filled with strawberries, and a faint smile on her face. She pushed the door shut behind her with her foot, and it shut with a solid thump, the latch falling into place with a soft clack.

"Firiel, I have put Lavaniel in her stall," she said, seeing her aging friend sitting at the wooden table, her chin in her hand. Her silver hair was knotted back into a single bun, though one missed strand trailed down the back of her neck. Upon the table before Firiel, sat the basket Elros had recovered and returned, the little pot of jam held in one wrinkled hand.

Firiel did not respond at first, gazing out the open window that faced away from the sunset, seeming to be lost in another world as the maiden stepped near, and let the strawberries tumble into an empty wooden bowl in front of the old woman.

"Firiel?" Andreth asked again. The old woman started and looked up, lifting her chin from the hand it had been resting upon.

"Ah, forgive me, Andreth." Firiel smiled gently, the sweet, comforting smile Andreth had known from her earliest memory, and as she sat down upon the rough wooden bench beside the old woman, Firiel reached out, and touched her head, gently stroking her hair. "I was thinking."

The touch was as familiar as the old woman's sweet smile, her hand always gentle, always ready to comfort or encourage. Andreth had only been a young girl when her father died, but she clearly remembered Firiel's touch the day that the soldiers had come to their clearing, two mortal soldiers in dented armor, their steps heavy and weary. She had seen their coming, and had known long before they reached Firiel's hut, the news that they would bring. She had been holding a book, the tale of Thingol and Melian, that her father had given her before departing to help aid the Eldar and his kin in the War of Wrath.

Andreth had remained sitting as the men delivered their sorrowful message, but Firiel had stood, silent at Andreth's side, her hand stroking the girl's hair as Andreth ducked her face into her hands and sobbed for her father, her book falling from her lap to the ground. Beldir her father had stood his ground to the last, and had slain many of the enemy before they had finally cut him down. He had died a hero's death, the weary, war-battered men had assured her. But that had given Andreth little to comfort her weeping heart.

Andreth had not wanted grand stories of her father's last valiant battle, she had wanted her father. It should have been him to walk into the clearing weary, and clad in dented armor, to sit beside his daughter before Firiel's fire, and spin them tales of the war, and of all that he did, instead of these strange men, telling her to rejoice that he had shown such valor. Firiel had stayed at her side, her hand ever upon the maiden's hair, long after the men had bowed and departed. Motherless and now fatherless, Andreth would have been utterly alone, but for Firiel. Her old friend was here, would always be here. Indeed, Andreth could not imagine a life without Firiel to guide her and teach her.

Andreth shook herself from the memory, and returned Firiel's smile. "Thinking of what?"

"_Ai_, child," she sighed. "Of what will become of you, when I am gone."

Andreth's mouth opened slightly at Firiel's words, and she furrowed her brow. "Oh, Firiel, do not even think that way. You yet have many good years left. You need not worry about such things. And even so, I am not a child. If you- were gone, I would fare well enough."

"Here? All alone?" Firiel asked, turning now fully to the maiden. "What would you do with yourself? You do not mean to live alone all your days, and die unloved and childless like your namesake?"

"Well," Andreth bit her lip, a little taken aback by Firiel's questions. She leaned forward, and touched her friend's hand. "I do not wish to, though it is very possible I might die unmarried. It would be no terrible shame, though, Firiel. So many men were slain in the great war that just passed, that-"

"But I do not want that to be _your_ fate," Firiel murmured, her eyes softening. "You are too good, too kind, Andreth, to be denied a man's love, or the fulfillment of bearing children. I do not wish you to be denied children." Firiel heaved a sigh, "As I was," she finished sadly.

"Hamar loved you," Andreth offered softly.

"Yes, he did," Firiel said, her lips twitching in a faint smile at the name of her husband who had died, seven years past. "More than I ever thought anyone could love me, for all that I could not bear him children. We lived a good, long life together before the Doom of Men claimed him."

Andreth squeezed Firiel's hand, smiling when it answered the pressure of her fingers. "Our lordly guests who departed this morning would have called it the _gift _of men, and their own fate to live always bound to Arda, a doom."

"They would," Firiel agreed, and laughed softly. "And I am glad you spoke of them, for I was thinking on them just now."

Andreth ducked her eyes, wondering if Firiel could see the heightened color in her face, and guess that she too had been thinking of them; or, she admitted to herself, _one_ of them, all day.

"I know you are not a child, Andreth," Firiel said. "But still, I worry about you, here, alone with me. How would you feel, young one, if I were to send you to Mithlond to dwell for a time?"

"Mithlond? But I have not been there since I was a child," she protested. "I know no one there."

"You know the Lords Elrond and Elros now," Firiel returned. "And your father Beldir knew Lord Círdan, the great Shipwright, himself."

"So my father said," Andreth conceded. "He even told me I met Lord Círdan when I was a child, and that he made much of me." She sighed. "But I do not remember the meeting."

"But doubtless he remembers _you_!" Firiel insisted. "And he would honor you, as he did your father. For elves often count the descendents of their mortal friends as they would the friends themselves. And more than Círdan would welcome you, for though Bëor has long passed from this world, the elves who knew him would consider you as they would him, and that is no small advantage Andreth, and no shameful thing. For his blood is in you, and they can see it. You would have access to all manner of books and learning." Firiel paused, and offered her a teasing smile. "And there are mortal men enough whom you could meet. They did not all fall in the war."

Andreth sighed. "But Firiel, where would I live?"

Firiel shrugged. "In the house of some generous elf. They would all welcome you, I don't doubt, being of the house of Bëor, as you are."

"Oh, no. No, no. Firiel, I would not want to take advantage of the good graces of any simply because of my lineage," Andreth protested quickly. "Rather, I would wish to earn my own-"

"Your own honor by your own actions, yes," Firiel agreed hastily, "and you would certainly do that, for you are as wise and good as you are beautiful, Andreth. Enough to rival even the fairest elf maiden."

Andreth ducked her head, studying the roughly hewn wood of the table. "I would not want to leave you alone," she murmured at last. "And I have books enough. And if I want for more, I can trade with our neighbors who have them. I do not need to stay away from you so long to gain learning."

"Oh, think nothing on it," Firiel chuckled. "The haven of Mithlond is close enough that even I, with my aging legs, could make such a journey in less than a day. And we have neighbors nearby, who will look in on me. If worry for me is all that is keeping you, do not let it hold you back."

Firiel tightened her grip upon Andreth's hand, and the maiden looked up into her old friend's gleaming eyes. "Shall we set out tomorrow, after the morning milking, to Mithlond? Perhaps the Lords Elrond and Elros would even be willing to take you as their ward while you dwell there, and be your guardians."

"My guardians?" Andreth wondered. "They look no older than me."

"They are young for elves," Firiel acknowledged with a bob of her head. "For I understand they have not yet reached a century in age. But even so, they are older than I. They are nearing their nintieth year."

Andreth grew still for a moment, her thoughts fixing upon Lord Elros, his eyes, grey as the sea, solemn, yet warm and kind, his features strong and chisled, his tall form and lean, powerful body.

Her pulse quickened as the image of him came again into her mind, and she knew she could never think of Elros as_ fatherly, _no matter what his true age. When he had looked at her, earlier that day when she had been rather scantily clad, he, as the honorable man she knew him to be, had looked quickly away. But in that fleeting interval, he had looked at her with the eyes of a young man, his gaze bringing back the feeling of mingled excitement and uncertainty she had felt when she had sat beside him in the morning, and he had spoken of her eyes. _They are green, _he had said touching her face with gentle fingers when he had wiped away the tear from her cheek, _like soft grass in a meadow after a summer rain. _There had been, or at least she had imagined there had been, desire in his gaze; nothing like the greedy, calculating lust she had seen in the eyes of the man Elros had slain to save her, but a sweet, warm longing woven through with tenderness. Like the look a man would give to the woman he loved above all the world, and whose happiness he lived to fulfill.

No. After today, even if she had only imagined it all, she could never see Elros as a guardian or as a father figure to her. Elrond his elder brother, perhaps, but never Elros himself.

"I could not see Lord Elros as a guardian," she said, looking up into Firiel's eyes. "Lord Círdan perhaps, but-"

"Well then, it is settled," Firiel interrupted brightly, taking up a strawberry in her gnarled fingers, and lifting it to her lips, biting into the juicy red fruit. "We shall set out tomorrow to the haven of Mithlond beside the sea, and find Lord Círdan, the great shipwright," she said as she chewed. "No doubt he will welcome you, being the daughter of his friend, Beldir of the House of Bëor and will remember you, even if you do not remember him. Being one who values learning and knowledge, I do not doubt but that good Círdan will be pleased to let you dwell with him, so that you may gain even more learning than you now have."

Andreth opened her mouth in an attempt to offer another protest, but Firiel spoke before she did. "And doubtless you will see enough of lords Elrond and Elros as well, whom you already know, and who can speak for your character and introduce you to their circles of acquaintances, which just might include a few mortal men near your own age."

Andreth paused at this, a sweetness engulfing her heart that she wished to either push fiercely away, or embrace with equal fervor. Which should she choose? Were she to say no, Firiel would, in the end, let it go. But if Andreth accepted it, and went with Firiel to the havens tomorrow, what then would happen?

Andreth's heart gave a painful thump, and she looked up. "Very well," she murmured solemnly. "We will go tomorrow, and seek out Círdan." She drew in a breath and added as she managed a faint smile, "Just after the morning milking."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Círdan, clad in a robe of silver and blue, stood upon the shore of the sea, his back toward the land, and his face gazing westward as Elros descended the stone steps toward him. He held something in his hand, but Elros could not see what it was, with the silver-haired elf's back toward him.

"Greetings, Elros, son of Eärendil," Círdan said without turning, and Elros stopped, just as he dropped off the last step onto the sandy shore.

"Greetings to you, my lord," he said, and the ancient elf turned.

The silver of Círdan's thin beard, rare for an elf, curved up with his own smile behind it. Within the silver-haired elf's hand, Elros noted now, was a single pearl, white and gleaming, between Círdan's thumb and forefinger. His eyes found Elros' and the young elf grew still for a moment as he met the ancient elf's eyes, and studied the deep pools of wisdom there, remembering that this elven man who stood before him, was one of the first elves to have awakened in the beginning of the world.

Elros' expression must have given the wise elf something to laugh at, for Círdan did, coming forward to clap a hand upon Elros' firm shoulder.

"Ah, son of Eärendil, do not look on me with such awe! We are friends, you and I, and I am not one of the Valar! Come with me to the house, where Elrond, no doubt, is waiting for us, having settled himself comfortably with a book, somewhere."

The ancient, ageless elf turned Elros up the trail lined with waving grasses that descended down the slope of the hill, and toward the white-stoned building at the crest of it, where the ancient shipwright dwelt.

"Your journey went well, I trust?" Círdan asked as they walked.

"Quite well, my lord," Elros added.

He looked at the stones beneath their feet as they climbed, seeing Círdan's studious eyes upon him out of the corner of his eyes.

"You passed the storm comfortably? You do not look as travel-worn as I would expect, had you weathered the storm last night in some makeshift shelter in the forest."

"Yes, my lord," Elros added, feeling slightly nervous beneath the ancient shipwright's discerning gaze. He drew in a breath. "An old mortal woman and her young ward sheltered us in their dwelling during the storm."

"It was most kind of them," Círdan said in a warm voice. "The Secondborn may have been marred, but there are yet those who are good and noble among them."

Elros nodded at this. "Indeed," he agreed, recalling the gleam of the fire off of Andreth's unbound hair, and the smooth curves of her face and throat. Remembering though where he was, he shook himself, and glanced aside at his silver-haired friend. Círdan grinned again, clapping Elros on the shoulder.

"You are looking forward to supper, I hope?" Círdan asked as they continued to climb. "My servants have prepared an especially delicious meal in anticipation of your arrival."

"Certainly," Elros assured the elven shipwright, remembering the night before, feasting on Andreth's stew, warm and comfortable as the storm raged outside her hut. Círdan's servants would be hard-pressed to make a more pleasant meal.

"That pearl you're holding," Elros said, struggling to keep his focus on Círdan, rather than the fair memory of the mortal maiden. "What is its significance?" He nodded to the gleaming pearl in Círdan's hand.

Círdan lifted the pearl again, studying it with somber eyes, as keen in their sight as they had been the day he had awakened.

"I am pleased you asked," Círdan said, studying the smooth white gem in his hand. "Its coming was most unusual, though. I found it, washed up on the beach only a few minutes before your arrival at the sands where you just found me. A gift from Ulmo. It came into my mind, when I reached down and picked it up, that you, young Elros, are uncertain about a great decision that you have before you. And it came to my understanding that this will help you in making your choice."

Círdan studied the small round gemstone a moment longer, then held it out to Elros. "Here. It is yours."

Elros accepted the pearl wordlessly, and held it in his palm, testing its weight. Its surface was unmarred, gleaming and white, with the faintest rainbow sheen to it, as he had seen in other pearls. It was not entirely round though, as he had thought at first, but neither was it without symmetry as he had seen in some unevenly shaped pearls. Rather, this pearl tapered slightly at one end to a smooth, rounded point, giving it the uniform, and distinctive shape of a raindrop.

Other than its miraculous shape, there was nothing about it that suggested that it held any mystic power or wisdom that would help him determine whether he should continue his life as an immortal elf, or choose a mortal life. He felt nothing when holding the smooth gem, other than its weight, which was not great.

"A gift from Lord Ulmo himself?" Elros asked. "To- _me_?"

Círdan squeezed the youthful elf's shoulder. "You speak as if you would be surprised at such a gesture."

"I am," he admitted. "I am only-,"

"The son of Eärendil, the great mariner," Círdan interrupted kindly, "of the noble lady Elwing. I need not even say that you are the descendant of Tuor and Idril, and Beren and Lúthien, whose many brave and noble deeds could fill volumes."

"But I am not them," Elros protested. "Their deeds should not count to my honor."

"Your deeds during the War of Wrath were brave, and noble enough to do credit to your own honor Elros," Círdan assured him. "And your noble deeds are not ended, for you have the seeds of greatness in you. The Valar know what you are capable of, son of Eärendil."

Elros closed his hand around the pearl, smooth and cool against his fingers. "And I want to do what is best. For it is a weighty choice that has been given to us. My Lord Círdan, we have been given the power to choose between mortality, or immortality."

Círdan's eyes widened at this. "Ahhh," he breathed. "You have been given the choice of Lúthien, your ancestress. Indeed, that_ is _a weighty responsibility. What are Elrond's thoughts?"

"Elrond knew almost immediately that he wished to live the life of the Firstborn," Elros said, despondent.

Círdan's brow furrowed sympathetically. "And you feel discouraged, because you are not yet certain which path you should follow?"

Elros nodded. "His choice may have something to do with his dreams. But I am not blessed wth such clear answers as he-,"

"Dreams?" Círdan encouraged.

Elros furrowed his brow. "Elrond has often spoken of an elven maiden with silver hair and fair skin who sometimes inhabits his dreams." He paused, hesitant, but Círdan nodded for him to continue, his eyes showing keen interest.

"He sees her as from a distance, and he cannot reach her, but he says he knows every detail of her face, and will know her when he meets her. He feels that this dream maiden represents a real woman, and I think he may fancy himself in love with her, and hopes to wed her when they meet, though he hasn't said as much."

Círdan nodded thoughtfully his steps slowing. Elros slowed his own to match the elder elf. "Now and then," the ancient shipwright murmured, his eyes thoughtful, "as with Thingol and Melian, or Beren and Lúthien, or even your own father and mother, there are those whose meetings seem almost foreordained, as if their souls were fashioned by the All Father, one for the other. It would not be surprising if your brother has a similar destiny, and the woman Elrond is to marry one day, or at least her image, mayhap her unborn soul, does inhabit his dreams, and is calling to him. Perhaps he would do well to wait for her, centuries even, if she is not born yet. I cannot say, for I am not Elrond. But his dreams may have, perhaps, helped him so quickly to know that he is meant to choose to remain an immortal elf, and live until the world's ending."

Elros drew in a breath that swelled his chest, and held it a long moment before releasing it again. "I cannot claim of any such lucid dreams as my brother can. I do not fancy any elven maid, living or unborn. And I cannot say for certain, yet, which path I am to take. But I do believe there is one destiny that is meant for me, upon which, I can do the most good for this world, that I could not do were I to choose the other."

Behind his beard, Círdan pursed his lips, his eyes growing thoughtful a long moment, before he smiled again. "Elros, you are wise not to choose your path so quickly before searching out your own mind and heart to their very depths. Do not think it a shame that you must wait a little longer to choose your path. Be patient with yourself, and when you do know your choice, it will not be wrong."

The two elven men reached the level bluff, and the lights shining from the windows of Círdan's dwelling beckoned to Elros, promising warmth and rest.

Círdan grinned encouragingly upon the younger elf. "The Valar are aware of you, and of the good heart you possess, Elros. And the pearl will help you. Somehow." The ancient shipwright grinned, and his eyes danced with humor. "Though for all the world I cannot say, for I am not you."

He squeezed Elros' shoulder. "Come, I can smell supper now, and it is making my stomach rumble."

Elros grinned and nodded, striding along with Círdan's arm still on his shoulder toward the lighted house, his fist still closed tightly around the pearl.

...oOo...

The cry of gulls filled the air, and the sweet scent of the ocean came welcome into her lungs as Andreth walked along at Firiel's side, her leather shoes tapping against the paving stones beneath her feet.

Andreth drew in another breath as she lifted her eyes, gazing up at the silver and grey buildings and turrets that made up the maritime haven of Mithlond. To her right, circling the buildings here on the northern edge of the river, rose a long wall of silver grey stone, watch towers spaced evenly along it. Its western edge curved back toward the river Lhûn.

To her left, she could see the placid flow of the River Lhûn, widened here into a deep, peaceful bay before flowing gently through a wide passage formed by two rising cliffs of rough grey stone, into the greater Gulf, and on westward, into the sea. Towers rose on both cliffs, though upon the north side, the towers were not complete, though she could see scaffolding circling one unfinished tower, and forms of men moving busily about. She could see a triangular crane hefting a heavy stone into the air, and could hear the faint creak and strain of ropes as a heavy stone, dangling from taut ropes, swung slowly to a space in the wall, the crane lowering it into its space. Across the distance between the unfinished tower and herself, the soft thump of the stone found her ears a moment later.

Nearest to her, the streets teemed with people, mostly of the elven race, men and women with smooth features, and bright or dark hair, drawn back in braids or gilded combs from their elegant, peaked ears. Now and then, though, there was a mortal or two. There were, Andreth noted, more women than men of each race, reminding her of the war that had passed, and which had claimed so many valiant lives, not just her own father's. And in the eyes of many of the women, the elven women especially, there was a shadow of sorrow that saddened Andreth, for she understood it well. They, like she, had lost someone, perhaps more than one, whom they cared for; a brother or father, a husband or son.

But elves, she reminded herself, were capable of rebirth, and could, if they chose, return again to life one day. Her own father, though, was gone where her mother had gone, beyond the circles of the earth, beyond the stars, somewhere. Elves always had the hope of seeing their loved ones again upon Arda. Andreth, though, knew she would not see her father again, until her own death.

"If my memory serves, that is Círdan's house," Firiel said at her side, interrupted her thoughts.

Andreth looked to where her old friend pointed, seeing a house of white stone beyond the walls of the city, rising above her, upon a bluff overlooking the waters of the wide Gulf, standing almost like a palace, three towers rising grandly into the air as gulls circled about them.

"Oh my," Andreth gasped, pulling up short. "And he lives there, all by himself?"

"Bless me, no," Firiel chuckled. "He has servants. Of course, as I understand it, they are more as children to him than servants, and he always has guests coming and going."

"Oh, Firiel," Andreth moaned. "I could not begin to live in such a house as that. Such richness. If Lord Círdan even wishes to permit me to live there." She looked down hopelessly at her dress, her best one, of blue cotton, though it looked now to her, to be hopelessly plain. The fabric was not coarse, but neither was it as fine as many of the gowns of the elven women she passed. And these women were commoners, not so fine and lordly as Círdan. The scooped neck had no elegant embroidery, and in the sleeves that hung open at her wrists, there was a small tear that she had patched where she had torn it last year on a nail during the autumn festival at a neighbor's farm. The patch had never seemed large to her before, but now it stood out to her, painfully. "I have never-,"

"Come," Firiel laughed, looping her arm through Andreth's, and turning the stunned maiden onto the road that wended upward toward the shipwright's dwelling.

Andreth drew in a deep breath, and clutched the bundle she held closer to her, feeling inadequate and plain. She followed Firiel's lead though, trusting her old friend, as Firiel guided her away from the crowded street, and up the sloping lanes and rising stone steps that led ever closer to Círdan's large dwelling. Firiel led her through an open gate in the wall of Mithlond, the crowds thinned, and the stone pavement beneath her feet gave way to earth once more, the haven of Mithlond falling behind as they rose up the hill.

The hill was steep as they climbed, and the sun overhead, nearing the mid-day point, warmed the earth below it. In the early morning hours, the earth had been cool when the two women had risen, earlier than usual; Lavaniel still sleepy when Andreth had milked her, and set her loose to wander where she would. But now, the day was far warmer than it had been in the morning when they had started out, and to her chagrin, Andreth felt a trickle of sweat slide down her spine beneath the cloth of her gown.

_Please_, she pleaded in her mind, _if only I am not dripping with sweat when I meet Círdan!_

As she drew nearer, Círdan's large house growing more impressing and intimidating with each step she took toward it, a large stable for horses began to come into view as the path the two women followed curved along the side of the rising bluff. And from the back of the house, she saw stone steps now, that led down a grassy slope to the bluegreen waters of the vast Gulf that lapped rhythmically at the edge of a wide stretch of smooth white sand that led away, bending beyond her sight around the bluff upon which the house stood. A surge of curiosity pulsed through her, overcoming, for a moment, her fear and uncertainty. What would she find, Andreth wondered, if she were to walk that stretch of sand and round that grassy hill?

But her trepidation returned in a moment, for the earthen path she and Firiel walked along, reached the crest of the hill at last, and bent now toward the house, where stood a large oaken door, adorned with carvings and decorative plaiting that looked very much like gold. Andreth swallowed hard.

She could hear the voices of horses now, their gentle whickers coming from the stable which stood not far to her right. As if aware of the newcomers, the heads of a few horses lifted over the doors of their stalls to gaze curiously at the nearing visitors, and whicker friendly sounding greetings.

One equine face, a stallion's she was certain, appeared over the edge of its stall, and caused Andreth to pause. The copper-colored fiery coat seemed familiar, and most especially its eyes. But she did not focus on the bright eyed, fiery coated horse for long, for in the next stall beside it, there appeared a white face, thinner, and with soft eyes. A mare, Andreth guessed, with a long, flowing mane of silver.

Her eyes met the mare's and held, and Andreth sensed a feeling of welcome, and of friendship. She smiled, and fancied that she saw a smile returned in the eyes of the white horse.

"Here we are," Firiel said, pausing at the steps of the house.

Andreth looked up the steps toward the large carven door, and swallowed.

"What if Círdan does not like me?" she protested. "What if he is too occupied to trouble himself with a ward, Firiel?"

Firiel snorted softly, though her eyes were encouraging as she turned toward Andreth, and squeezed her hand. "It is not likely that he will dislike you, unless he is a fool, and I know Lord Círdan is anything but a fool. And you are not an infant who will need constant care. You can feed and look after yourself, and I am certain that regardless of how occupied he is, he will make time enough for you. You are, remember, of the house of Bëor, and your father Beldir was Círdan's friend. You met the great elven lord as an infant, even if you do not remember, and he liked you then. You are here, chiefly, for your own learning, to associate with wise scholars, and become acquainted with all manner of good books. Círdan values learning and teaching, and I am certain he would welcome you just for that, even if you were not Beldir's daughter."

Andreth drew in another sigh, but said nothing as Firiel started up the steps, her arm still looped through Andreth's.

The old woman stopped at the door that rose several lengths above her head, lifted a gnarled hand, took hold of a massive, golden knocker, and clapped it against the door three times.

Andreth winced as the sound echoed hollowly from within, but she stood her ground as soft footsteps drew near, and the door slowly creaked open.

The kindly eyes of a young-looking elven woman met them. "Greetings, friends," she said warmly, though her face betrayed surprise at the sight of two mortals. "May I be of any help to you?"

"We are seeking Lord Círdan," Firiel said in return. "Is he at home?"

The woman sighed, and her eyes grew apologetic. "I fear not. He and his friends are in the city, helping to build one of the light houses."

"Ah," Firiel's voice suddenly sounded weary. "We have just left there. We saw men upon scaffolds near an unfinished tower."

"They will not be home until the evening," the elven woman apologized. "Though you are most welcome to rest yourselves, and wait for Lord Círdan's return. I am named Aelin, and I will be happy to see to any needs you may have, Mistress-"

"I am Firiel, widow of Hamar," Firiel said, dropping in a slight curtsy, "And this," she turned toward Andreth, who did not miss the playful grin upon her thin lips, "is Andreth, daughter of Beldir, of the house of Bëor."

To this, a visible change came over the elven woman, and her eyes widened in quiet awe as she studied Andreth now with a gaze that was almost reverent.

"My lady," she murmured, her voice grown soft. She dropped in a curtsy to Andreth. "It is an honor, truly, to receive one of your house. Your father as I remember, was a good friend to Lord Círdan. And you were here yourself once, not long ago, though you were an infant, then. Lord Círdan will be pleased to see you again."

Andreth's eyes widened in numb surprise, and she turned toward Firiel, seeing the old woman's wrinkled face gleaming in triumph.

"If it pleases you, please, come in." The elven woman stood aside and gestured into what Andreth could see, was a spacious hall, leading into the heart of the house. To one side of the large hall, a grand staircase curved up and away into passages she could not see. Her heart throbbed within her. Was she indeed being welcomed, almost as royalty, into such a fine house as this?

"Forgive us, but we must speak to Lord Círdan first," Firiel said, regret lacing her voice. "You see, I- the Lady Andreth, had hoped to stay here in Mithlond, perhaps as the ward of Lord Círdan for a time, perhaps a full season or more, so that she might acquaint herself with all manner of learning available here in the havens. I have been her caretaker these past years since her father's death. I must depart before midday, and it would be most ungracious if I left her here, without the leave of your lord."

"I see," Aelin said with a nod of understanding. "Well, I do not doubt that good Lord Círdan would not be unwelcome to a visit now, were you to go to the tower he is helping to construct. I fear I cannot leave my twining, but Maidh would be happy to guide you there, I am certain."

_Maidh_? Andreth wondered. Who was Maidh?

The elven woman stepped out onto the stone of the porch before the door, and glanced toward the stables.

"Maidh!" she called, lifting a beckoning hand. "Come here, my friend!"

At her bidding, the white mare Andreth had seen before, tossed her head within the stall where she stood, and stepped forward, pushing the door open and outward with her long, sleek nose, and clattering out onto the stony pathway before the stable. The horses were not constrained to stay in their stalls, Andreth realized, her heart filling with wonder and pleased surprise as the mare, shapely and beautiful, trotted forward of her own will, her white tail flicking as she came, her hooves crunching the stones beneath her feet.

"There, good friend," Aelin said. "These ladies wish to be guided to Lord Círdan. Can you take them there?

What looked like a smile touched the lovely eyes of the horse, and she lifted her head, tossing her mane, and whinnying in obvious pleasure.

Aelin turned with a smile to Andreth and Firiel. "She says she would be pleased to take you."

...oOo...

The sun, now past her zenith, heat the earth below while Andreth walked beside the patient white horse upon which Firiel was mounted. Her aging friend sat upon a tooled leather saddle, and reins rested in her hands, though they were not needed as the horse followed a path she knew along the stone tiles of Mithlond, guiding Andreth toward the incomplete grey tower rising upon the finger of rock that jutted into the bay. Andreth drew in a breath, tasting the sweet salty tang of the air, and lifted her eyes to the ragged walls. Even unfinished, and encircled by intricate tiers of scaffolding, the grey stone tower was impressive.

Scores of men walked or climbed among the scaffolding, working on the unfinished wall. Most of them were elven, their long dark or fair hair pulled smoothly back behind their tipped ears, and tied to trail in long tails down their backs, while a few were dark or tawny-haired mortals with rounded ears like her own. Many of the workers, both elven and mortal, clearly affected by the sun's warming rays as she was, had shed their shirts and tunics, and worked only in breeches and boots, their chests and backs bare and gleaming with sweat. Others were still clad in loose linen shirts damp with persperation, and clinging with dust.

Andreth swallowed, for she had felt since her leaving the bluff north of the city, a steady trickle of sweat trailing down her spine or down her throat, and she had given up all hope of meeting Lord Círdan as the sweet, presentable maiden she had hoped she would appear.

Maidh stopped with a clapping of her hooves on the edge of the work area, where, not far away, three men stood with their backs toward the women. Two of them, a silver-haired elf and a dark-haired elf poured over plans layed before them on a large, unfinished block of stone. Their companion also dark-haired, stood a short distance away, finishing the last knots of rope around a smaller, smoother block of stone that rested on the ground. Ropes that trailed up from it, dangled from the long neck of the massive wooden crane Andreth had seen from a distance earlier, that would, when the block was secure, hoist it to its place on the rising wall of the lighthouse it was destined to be.

The silver-haired elf wore a finely woven robe, and seemed hardly affected by the heat of the day. His companion wore a loose white tunic, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, sweat darkening his collar. But their comrade, busily securing and testing the knotted ropes, had elected as others of his comrades had, to cast aside his shirt altogether.

His long hair, tied back with a leather string, hung forward over one thickly muscled shoulder, and Andreth swallowed stiffly, unable to see his face with his back to her, though the peaked tip of one ear was visible, showing him to be an elf. Try as she wished, she was unable to ignore the way the elf's lean muscles shifted beneath the skin of his back as he worked, the corded sinews of his arms and shoulders bunching and shifting beneath the smooth surface of his skin with each movement, like ripples on the surface of a quiet pond. A single trail of sweat slid down the valley of his spine to his lean waist where a faint line of persperation had darkened the hem of his breeches, hanging low about his narrow hips. Though her new elven friend Elros and his brother Elrond were probably not anywhere near here, Andreth could not help but imagine that this fair, strong elven man, whose face she could not see, was in fact Elros himself. But such thinking was nothing more than a silly, girlish fancy. Lord Elros, though he was somewhere in Mithlond, could not be-

Maidh, in what seemed a burst of impatience, whinnied shrilly, interrupting Andreth's warm fantasy, and scraped a hoof over the stone tiles at her feet as she tossed her bright mane.

The elf with the silver hair and his companion turned immediately, and Andreth's eyes darted to the dark-haired elf, her mouth falling open as she recognized Lord Elrond. His silver-haired companion she did not recognize, though instinctively, she knew him to be Círdan, the very elf she had come to see, for his kindly face, though ageless, carried the wisdom of uncounted centuries, and he bore, as she had often read, a slight, silver beard.

Andreth's thoughts burst in a miriad of directions, like shattered glass. _If this was Elrond, then who- who was the other dark haired elf, if not in very fact- _Her thoughts could not remain coherent, and she despaired as Lord Elrond smiled in surprised recognition, and raised his hand in greeting while the silver haired elf smiled, and strode toward her and her companions.

"Lady Andreth!"

The youthful voice had not come from Elrond. Rather, the breathless greeting had come from behind Elrond as the elf who had been securing the knots about the finished stone, turned and came trotting forward. Elros' bare chest heaved with deep breaths and gleamed with persperation as he neared them and slowed to a stop. His sea grey eyes, shining with surprised welcome, fixed upon Andreth as he dropped his hands to his hips.

_Elros, himself._

Her heart choked within her, bursting in a sudden rush of wild ecstacy and terror. The very elven man whose masculine beauty she had allowed herself to grow distracted by, was indeed the very man she had imagined him to be! Lord Elros himself. _Elros_! In one moment she wished both to sing, and to turn and flee away, at once.

The corded muscles of Elros naked chest and stomach were infinitely more distracting than the sinews of his back had been, especially more so now that she knew him to be the very man whom she had secretly hoped, and it was with wrenching effort that Andreth tore her eyes away. She looked down the slope of the city toward the gleam of the waters of Lhûn, fixing her eyes upon the dancing waves flickering with the light of the sun.

"Ah!" Círdan greeted, his glad tones of pleased welcome giving no hint that he was aware of Andreth's discomfiture. "It is indeed, young Andreth, daughter of my dear friend, Beldir?"

Andreth tore her eyes from the water, and fixed them studiously upon the silver haired elf. "Yes, sir- my lord," she barely managed, struggling to keep her eyes upon him, though she could see Elros out of the corner of her eye.

"I am glad to see you once again, my child, though you have changed much in the few years since our last meeting," Círdan continued. "You have blossomed like a flower, though you are far more lovely than any bloom of Yavannah's making."

Involuntarily, her eyes darted now to Elros, finding his eyes. They were soft and warm, and a faint grin pulled at one corner of his mouth as her gaze met his. A single line of sweat trailed slowly down the strong sinews of his throat and over the chiseled sinews of his naked chest. _What would it be like_, she wondered wildly, _to reach out, and brush that trail of sweat away_? What would his skin_ feel_ like?

Rending her eyes back to the older elf, she managed a smile. "Thank you, my lord."

"And good Firiel," Círdan greeted, lifting his eyes now to Firiel where she sat upon Maidh's back. "It is pleasant to see you again as well."

"It has been many years, my lord," Firiel offered with a nod of her head. "I do not look as I once did when my husband and I were young. And my feet are not as quick."

Círdan smiled gently. "You eyes are as bright as ever, my friend."

Firiel smiled and nodded her head in thanks. "You are very kind, my Lord Círdan. And it is for that reason that my ward Andreth and I have come to Mithlond to seek you out."

"I am glad," Círdan answered warmly. Andreth swallowed fiercely at the graciousness and generosity in his tones. "But indulge me, I pray. To what do I owe the honor of your welcome visit?"

"I have come, hoping to learn, my lord," she said, struggling to keep a tremor out of her voice. "I would ask, if you will allow me, to live in your house for a season, so that I may search your libraries, and learn from your wisdom, and the wisdom of others. I would like to find, if you will permit me, many," she drew in a breath, "many books to read."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could still see Elros shifting his weight, and reaching a lean, muscular arm out to clap a hand on Elrond's shoulder. But Andreth kept her gaze fixed determinedly upon Círdan's eyes.

"You enjoy reading, child?" he asked. "And learning?"

"Yes, my lord," she returned, her voice softening. "I do. Very much."

To this, a smile of warmest pleasure drew up the wise elf's lips, and he came forward, reaching for, and clasping Andreth's small hand between both of his own.

"Then you are most welcome, daughter of the house of Bëor." His hands were not gnarled or spotted with age as the hands of Firiel, or of another aged mortal, but still, she felt within their grasp, a whisper of the ages that he had seen, and the wisdom that lay behind his kind, gentle eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Andreth struggled to hide her awe as she stepped into Círdan's house, though she could not keep herself from lifting her eyes and glancing upward, marveling at how distant the peaked ceiling was. Beneath her feet, stone tiles set in symmetrical patterns, filled the great hall, while long, luxurious tapestries hung down the walls, threads of every imaginable color telling stories without words, several of which she recognized, and others she did not. Wide doors led away into other parts of the great house that Andreth felt sure would take well over a week to explore, if she could. One door to her left, stood slightly ajar, and Andreth's heart thrilled as she caught a slender peek at tall shelves lined with thick tomes.

"This way, my lady," Aelin said, and Andreth turned back toward the elven woman who stood, patiently waiting upon the stairway Andreth had seen from the door when she had first come with Firiel. Aelin's slender hand, extending from the wide sleeve of her light blue gown, rested upon the elegantly carved banister of the stairway.

"Forgive me," Andreth said, picking up the hem of her skirt, and hurrying to catch up with her guide.

The carved wood of the banister was cool beneath her hand as she touched it, then withdrew her hand, turning her palm to study it. Andreth sighed, noting the dust that had settled over her skin as she and Firiel had journeyed here, and the black dirt crusted beneath her nails.

Above her, Aelin's feet made soft taps against the marble steps as she rose higher. Andreth released her breath, and climbed more quickly so that she would not fall behind, feeling painfully out of place, wondering if she would ever grow used to living in the elegance of Círdan's house.

Aelin, even as a servant, was dressed more finely than any mortal bride Andreth had ever seen, the fabric of her light blue dress soft and fluid, her sleeves long and open, while a net of elegant braids drew the hair back from her tipped ears, falling over the remainder of her unbound hair that trailed down her back to her waist.

If only she could be half as graceful and lovely, Andreth thought wistfully.

But no, she chided herself. It would not do, to allow herself to be jealous. Doubtless she would meet many other elven women, all far more beautiful than herself. It would not do to compair her mortal faults to their nearly flawless elven beauty. Rather, Andreth urged herself, it would be best to focus on the kindness they were showing to her; chiefly the generosity of Círdan to welcome her so warmly to Mithlond, and to have rooms set aside for her in his home. _Rooms_, he had said down in Mithlond beneath the tower Elros and Elrond were helping him build, not _room, _as she had remembered.

The stairs she and Aelin climbed at last ended on a wide balcony that encircled the open center, guarded by an elegantly carved balustrade overlooking the hall below. To her right, above the main door of Cirdan's house where Aelin had first greeted her, a large arching window overlooked the ground below, and beneath the window, a long cushioned bench, so that someone could sit and gaze out over the view.

"Oh," Andreth breathed softly, noting the gleaming glass of the window. She had seen some few panes of glass in windows before. There were glass windows here in Mithlond, she had seen. But nothing like this. For it filled nearly the entire wall.

Releasing another sigh, Andreth looked away and followed Aelin, who turned down a wide hallway. Candles within gleaming sconces lined the walls at regular intervals until Aelin stopped at last before a door, a white, gleaming door with curling designs of vines and leaves along the outer edges. It had an almost pearlescent sheen to it, and once again, a wave of awe washed Andreth's heart. This was to be hers? Her own? If her door was this beautiful, what was beyond it?

"These will be your rooms," Aelin offered, taking hold of the door's silver latch, and lifting it, pushing the door open as she continued to speak. "You will find a bath prepared already for you, and adequate garments laid out. If you need anything, there is a small bell on the desk in your bed chamber. Ring it, and I will hear. Supper will be in the dining room in one hour's time. Lord Círdan wishes to present you to some friends who knew Bëor and his kindred, and are anxious to meet you. I will show you the way, if you wish. Indeed, I will be happy to show you anywhere you wish to go until you are acquainted with the house, and comfortable in finding your own way."

Aelin pushed the door open as she spoke, and Andreth followed the gesture of her hand, entering the room. Her eyes widened in silent wonder, and her mouth fell open at the sight before her.

"When you are bathed and dressed," Aelin continued, as Andreth's wide eyes moved slowly from one end of the room to the other. "I will be pleased to help you with your hair if you wish."

The main chamber where she found herself, contained, in its center, a great white bed which looked as soft and luxurious as a cloud, and which looked as if it could comfortably sleep several people at once, with rising posts at all four corners, their points hung over with a canopy of gossamer. To her right, an open wardrobe of deep red wood, the doors intricately carved, showed her a number of lovely dresses, all of varied hues, and pairs of slippers lined neatly beneath them. Beside the wardrobe stood a screen behind which, she guessed, she would don her clothes. A leaf green gown of shimmering fabric, was draped luxuriously over the back of a chair beside this, while white underthings sat folded on the chair's seat, and upon the floor beneath it, sat a small pair of matching slippers.

Across the room from her, through a door still standing ajar, she could see a pool of water set into the floor, delicious wisps of steam rising from it.

To her left, muted light from a window that looked to be higher than her head, filtered through a wall of creamy curtains. Beside the vast window, in the corner, sat an intricately carved desk with a chair beside it, its legs and back carved in same manner. Drawers with golden handles lined the front of the desk. A small ivory bell, inlaid with accents of gold waited upon one corner, and an upright oval mirror stood at the back, against the wall.

A _mirror_! A perfect, flawless mirror, whose reflection was smooth, and clear. Would the wonders of Círdan's house never end? Andreth turned away from Aelin, and moved to the mirror, studying her amazed face within it, her plain blue dress, and her hair, her tresses of bronze and gold spilling down her back, some few golden strands spilling over her shoulders. Behind her, she caught Aelin's expression of gentle amusement at her awe.

"I am sorry," she gulped, meeting Aelin's eyes through the mirror. "You must think me very strange. I am a bit overwhelmed, but I am very pleased, and very grateful. You, Lord Círdan, your people- you are all so generous, my breath is taken away."

Aelin smiled. "I am pleased," she murmured. "And I assure you, Lord Círdan is only too glad to make you his ward, Lady Andreth, for your father was a good friend to him, and Lord Círdan has always had much respect for the children of the house of Bëor."

Aelin nodded to the soft curtains that veiled the tall window. "I do hope the view pleases you, my lady. Lord Círdan wished me to prepare this particular room, for its view looks north and west, toward the home you left, to come live here."

At Aelin's nod, Andreth moved to the curtains and brushed them aside. The curtains, hanging from small rings strung upon a gilded bar near the ceiling, pulled easily one way and the other. Tall bright panes of glass, framed in gleaming metal, higher than her head, and wider than she could reach to either side, let in streaming rays of warm red sunlight. She touched a hand to the cool, transparent surface, and leaned her face close to the glass, smiling in wonder as a faint mist formed upon the clear surface as she exhaled. Just beyond the high, bright windows, she saw a thick ledge of polished stone, a balustrade of carved wood at its edge.

Andreth wondered at a small round table of wrought metal, and two small chairs upon this ledge before Aelin urged, "Lift the latch, my lady. They open."

True enough, Andreth noted a latch between the frames of glass and lifted it. Almost without effort, the windows swung inward, helped by a gentle breeze. Hesitant, she looked over her shoulder to see Aelin's encouraging nod before she stepped out upon the stone balcony, and moved to the edge, letting her fingers rest on the carven railing. To her right, she could see Mithlond, and the bay, gleaming in the warm, red sunset, the unfinished lighthouse where she had met Círdan, and- Elros and Elrond again. Beneath her window, she could see the roof of the stables. Beyond the stables, forests and hills stretched away into the distance, falling down a mild slope toward the sea as far as her sight could see. She could not see into the remote distance, though she imagined an elf could.

There, somewhere, was Firiel, home by now, for Maidh, the white mare, had, with Círdan's instructions, agreed to carry her back, which had pleased Andreth, for she had worried about Firiel making the journey back alone, her steps slow, leaning heavily upon her cane the entire way. The lovely white horse could make her own way home the next morning without difficulty, so Círdan had explained.

At the thought of her wise, kind-hearted old friend, a swell of homesickness, and aching loneliness, acute and entirely unexpected, filled Andreth's stomach. And suddenly, she wanted to cry like a child. A wild desire welled in her to turn away from all of this, despite its richness, and Lord Círdan's gracious welcome, and run back home, back to what was familiar and dear to her, to the grass, and the wind, and the musky scent of Lavaniel's stable. Back to Firiel.

As if sensing her changed emotion, a hand touched her shoulder, and she looked to her side into Aelin's gentle eyes as the elven woman came to stand beside her at the railing.

"Mistress Firiel will be alright," Aelin assured her, as if reading her mind. "Maidh is careful and steady."

Andreth lifted a hand, and hastily brushed a tear from her lashes before it could fall. "I am sure you are right, but still, I miss her."

Aelin's mouth drew up in a warm smile. "I can see your friendship with her is strong."

"She has raised me since I was a baby. My mother died having me, you see. My father's dwelling was near hers, and I would go to her during the day, when his duties would not let him be with me. And then when he went away to war-" Andreth felt her throat tightening, "and never came back-,"

She could not finish, but Aelin nodded, silver tears forming in her eyes as well. "My husband fell in the Nírnaeth Arnoediad," she whispered. "I understand your pain."

A cool, gentle hand slipped into her own and squeezed as their eyes held. And as she studied the shared sorrow and the aching understanding in Aelin's eyes, she fancied that the gulf between her race and this woman's, was not so very vast, after all.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Aelin smiled, and lifted a hand, brushing wetness from her eyes. "I should go now, and leave you your privacy."

Aelin turned and stepped back into Andreth's bedchamber, and the maiden followed her.

Managing a smile, Aelin shut the glass windows to the balcony, and let the latch fall with a gentle click before drawing the curtains closed, muting the light in the room once again.

She drew in a light sigh as she nodded to the small bell upon the desk. "Please, ring the bell if you need anything at all."

With a final nod, Aelin turned away and left the room, the door shutting behind her with a soft click.

...oOo...

Andreth sighed as she opened her eyes, and studied the smooth white ceiling of her bathing chamber above the deep, warm bath where she lay in the warm water, her arms floating at her sides, her head resting upon a soft, folded towel upon the tiled edge of the bath. The fist of homesickness was still a heavy weight in her belly, but she could not deny how pleasant this felt as the warm water lapped against her body. Back home, she had always taken her baths in the cool waters of the silvan pond where she also did the washing, and had never bathed in warm water before. This was heavenly, she admitted.

She wanted to close her eyes again, and clear her mind, luxuriating in the warm bath for hours. But she remembered Aelin's words that supper would be in an hour, and that Círdan wished her to be there. And there would be others, friends who had known her forefathers. It would not do, to be late. Drawing in a breath, Andreth ducked her head beneath the warm surface, held a moment beneath the water, and rose again, spluttering. Arrayed upon the edge of the deep bath was a small cake of sweet-smelling soap in a dish beside a row of corked clay bottles of varied hues; soaps for her hair she guessed, and she picked up a violet one, uncorking the top.

Andreth inhaled the sweet scent of lavender greedily before tipping the bottle, and letting a pool of lovely, violet liquid, shimmering and viscous, spill into her palm. She smiled as she smeared the thick, sweet-smelling liquid into her hair, piling her hair atop her head in whorls and massaging the luxuriant bubbles through the full mass before she reached out a soapy hand, and picked up the soft cake of soap.

After several minutes of scrubbing her limbs and body, Andreth's skin fairly gleamed. No traces of the sweat or dust that had gathered on her on the road, or even of the grime beneath her fingernails, remained. Had she ever been so clean before in all her life as she was now?

Andreth ducked again beneath the water, letting the silent warmth close over her head before she rose again, water streaming from her hair and skin.

With a sigh of contentment, Andreth reached for the soft towel and rose, dripping, from the warm pool. She wrung her long hair in the towel until it was no longer dripping, then she wrapped it around her form, and padded out into the open room, the tiles cool against her bare feet.

She made her way across her bedchamber to the dress that lay waiting for her, and touched a hand to the fabric. As soft and cool as a cloud, she realized, the same with the white underthings as she set the soft towel aside, feeling like a princess as she began dressing herself. Everything was cool against her skin, comfortable, soft, and delicately feminine.

Andreth smiled, revelling in the feeling of being sweet and pretty as she stepped at last into the soft leaf green gown, and drew it up about her shoulders, slipping her arms into the full, open sleeves. The fabric settled at the edges of her slender shoulders, smoothing to the soft curves of her body as if it had been tailored for her. She slipped the soft cloth shoes onto her feet, cool and comfortable.

Gliding across the room to examine her reflection in the mirror, Andreth lifted a hand to her mouth at the sight of herself. Even with her hair still damp and hanging loosely about her shoulders, she did look, for all the world, like a princess. She felt as if she were looking through a window rather than into a mirror, and that she was gazing at another woman, an elf maiden, even, for the girl in the mirror was- radiantly beautiful.

Studying herself, Andreth's thoughts flitted to Lord Elros once again, and in the mirror, the image that gazed back at her, blushed in response to her warm thoughts. What would he think, she wondered, were he to see her now? Would he be pleased? He had seemed pleased to see her at the unfinished tower earlier in the day, she remembered, the color on her reflection's face deepening even further. Even when she had been covered in dust from the road, and damp with sweat from the journey and the day's heat.

Her heart flipped like a freshly-caught fish within her, and the same sensation of excitement and terror that siezed her heart whenever her thoughts focused upon the young elf lord.

With effort, Andreth pulled her thoughts from the dark-haired elf, and focused them again upon her reflection. Her long, damp hair still hung unbound about her shoulders, and soon, suppertime would arrive. She drew in a breath, and glanced at the small bell of ivory and gold.

Picking it up, she gave it a tentative shake, and a gentle, merry clatter filled the air. Could Aelin truly hear its tone? She doubted she would be able to hear it for herself, even from the other side of the room.

But amazingly, only a few moments later, a light tap sounded at her door.

"Come in," she called, and the latch lifted, Aelin stepping through, her eyes lighted at the sight of the mortal maiden.

"Ah, my lady, you look lovely," Aelin purred, coming near. "Do you wish me to arrange your hair?"

"Yes, if it pleases you," Andreth returned.

Aelin smiled gently, and nodded to the chair. "Please sit, Lady Andreth," she urged, and Andreth did as she was bidden, taking the chair before the mirror that Aelin had indicated.

Opening one of the drawers, Aelin drew out a soft hair brush, and began working it through the tresses of Andreth's hair. She closed her eyes, for the sensation was very pleasant, reminding her of Firiel's gentle hands when the old woman had brushed her hair as a child, before her hands had grown too weak for the task.

"I have not seen hair of such color as yours, before," Aelin said, smoothing a hand over the surface. "It is almost like fine threads of gold and bronze. Very lovely."

"Thank you," Andreth smiled, pleased at the elven woman's unfeigned admiration as Aelin continued her work. "I inherited it from my mother's side. My father said she had beautiful hair. I wish I could remember her."

Aelin smiled sadly at this, and though she did not speak, she paused briefly, to touch a gentle hand to Andreth's shoulder before continuing her work. Her expert hands combed the brush through Andreth's hair stroke after stroke, smoothing it until it glistened in soft waves against her back. Then, gently taking a long, soft lock of hair from each side, Aelin pulled them together behind Andreth's head, her gentle tugging giving Andreth no clue to what she was doing.

"There," she sighed at last. From the same drawer from which she had taken the brush, she drew out another mirror, this one small, and set in a guilded frame with a handle.

"Look," Aelin bid, holding the second mirror at such an angle that Andreth could see the back of her own head.

Two small braids behind her ears came together to form a single loose, though intricate braid of hair that rested on the glimmering sheet of her unbound hair against her back, while here and there within the weavings of the thick plait, and its smaller tributary braids, were woven small white flowers.

"Wonderful," Andreth breathed, and Aelin smiled, pleased.

Andreth rose to her feet then, and turned to face the elven woman. "Should I go now?"

"Soon," Aelin murmured. "One last thing, and you will be ready."

From a small leather pouch on the belt of her own dress, Aelin removed something that glimmered in her hand as she withdrew it.

"Here," Aelin said, reaching up, and fixing the glimmering object into Andreth's hair. A cool, gentle weight brushed Andreth's forehead. "Ah." Aelin stepped back and smiled, admiring her work. "You are truly of the house of Bëor, Lady Andreth."

She nodded to the mirror, and Andreth turned, her eyes widening at the delicate silver circlet adorning her brow, a single white pearl hanging from it, gracing the center of her smooth forehead.

Aelin, smiling at the expression of pleased wonder on Andreth's face, she turned away. "Come. Lord Círdan and his guests are waiting for you."

Swallowing stiffly, Andreth followed Aelin's lead as the elven woman guided her out the door and down the long, candle-lit hallway to the open walkway that surrounded the main hall of Círdan's vast house. Aelin descended the stairway, and Andreth followed, her heart in her throat as she anticipated her introduction to strangers whom she had never met, but who had known the house from which she had descended, and her forebearers. Would she meet with their expectations?

She and Aelin reached the main floor, and Aelin turned, gliding further into the house. Andreth followed, silent and afraid, though at the sight of a small knot of elven men clad in fine robes standing just outside a pair of closed double doors, she drew up short, and stopped.

Círdan's face she saw immediately. And though the backs of the two dark-haired elves were toward her, this time Andreth knew them as her friends, the sons of Eärendil, instinctively knowing that the man who stood closest to her, without even needing to see his face, was Lord Elros.

Círdan's eyes found hers, and an expression of pleased welcome came over his kindly face.

"Daughter of my friend, Beldir," he greeted. "You look as fair as an elven maid."

The young elven lords turned, and her eyes found Elros' in a moment. Her heart thumped fiercely within her at the visible intake of his breath, his broad chest swelling as his eyes, sea grey, and filled with warmth and wonder, took her in. His gentle mouth drew up in a faint smile, his lips slightly parted.

_Andreth_- his lips moved with her name, though no sound came forth.

She barely noted Elrond's sideward glance at his brother as her eyes and Elros' held for a long moment before she pulled her eyes away, and dropped her gaze.

"It is due to Aelin's skill," she said, lifting her eyes shyly to meet Círdan's kindly gaze. "Of myself, I am not so-,"

"I cannot make something beautiful that is not already," Aelin said, her voice generous where she stood off to the side, her hands clasped, and her eyes bright.

"Well said, Mistress Aelin," Círdan agreed, beckoning Andreth to him with a hand. "Come, Lady Andreth. It is time to go in to our guests, and present you."

Lifting her eyes to meet the gaze of the ancient shipwright, she did as she was bidden, and moved closer to him, closer also, she noted, her flesh tingling at his nearness, to Elros.

As she reached him, Círdan clasped one hand between both of his own, his gesture comforting and fatherly as it had been when they had met earlier in the day.

"But," continued Círdan in a tone of apology and good humor, "I fear it is not so very simple as what you may be accustomed to, when meeting new friends, and I beg you forgive us this bit of pomp, of which we elves are so fond."

Círdan drew in a breath, his eyes begging forgiveness even as he spoke. "I will go first, my lady, and speak some few words, of your house, and of the deeds of your kinfolk, and of your father's sacrifice. I will also speak of your kindness and generosity to my young friends Elrond and Elros, and how you and your guardian sheltered and fed them and their mounts during the high storm that recently passed. Lord Elrond as the eldest of his father's sons, will enter as I do, and take his place at the table."

Now, he nodded to Elros. "Elros, however, will be your escort, holding your hand thusly," Círdan's left hand lifted, and clasped the fingers of Andreth's right hand, gently gripping them between his thumb and the side of his forefinger, so that though they stood side by side, only their hands barely touched.

"And guide you in when I bid you to come," Círdan continued, letting her hand go, and nodding toward the doors that were yet closed. "You will stand a moment, do not fear, you will need not speak, then you will curtsy, and Elros will then see you to your seat, which will be to the immediate left of my seat at the head of the table. Only then will he release your hand, and take his place beside you."

A knife of worry stabbed itself through Andreth's heart at this, for she had not expected so much stately ceremony over a mere evening meal, and the emotion must have shown upon her face, for Círdan's expression softened.

"Do not fear, young one," he said in reassuring tones. "My guests will see, as do I, the inward beauty of your heart, which will be as clear to them as your outward beauty."

He paused, and his eyes softened, reminding her of the way her own father had often looked at her in the days before he had marched off to war.

"Indeed, young one, you are truly a jewel among the daughters of your race. For you shine as brightly as the star of the morning." The silver haired elf withdrew a pace and turned toward his younger companions. "Does she not?"

"She does," Elrond agreed readily with a nod, and a terse smile toward her.

But Elros did not answer, his eyes having fallen away. His gaze, fixed upon a space beyond Andreth's shoulder, looked troubled.

"Elros?" Círdan asked again, and at his query, Elros lifted his eyes, and drew in a breath that swelled deep in his chest.

His words as he spoke, were directed at Círdan, but his gaze found Andreth, his eyes delving into her own with piercing yet tender intensity.

"My Lord Círdan, the Lady Andreth is beautiful beyond words in any tongue," he murmured, his voice even and deep, warming her to the core of her being. "And brighter than any jewel on the earth or in the heavens."

"Indeed," Cirdan chuckled, turning to the young elf, and clapping his arm. "Your words are true, young Elros. So she is." But beside Círdan, Andreth noted, Elrond dropped his eyes at his brother's words, and did not smile.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The large hall, aside from herself and Lord Elros, was empty, for Aelin had gone away somewhere to other duties, and Andreth stood alone with the elven lord before the door that led into the dining hall. The sunset was fading through the high glass windows, and the light of the candles that flickered in sconces throughout the hall, were gaining in strength.

Glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, she studied the way the light played off the strong angles of his face. His own hands were clasped behind his back.

Elros seemed reticent now, unwilling to meet her eyes, and Andreth wondered if it was because of his bold assessment of her beauty when his brother and Lord Círdan had been with them.

Andreth ducked her eyes, recalling his words, and the warmth that had stirred in her as he had spoken.

Círdan had not yet called for them to enter, and so she stood at Elros' side, waiting for Círdan's summons, her fingers laced together against her skirt. If Elros held her hand as Círdan had explained he would, it would be only the slightest touch. Even so, the thought caused her heart to beat faster.

"My lord," she began tentatively, and Elros lifted his eyes, meeting hers, his gaze shy and endearing. An urge to see him smile welled up in her, and she asked, "Does this _elven pomp _as Lord Círdan called it, happen often?"

Her question was rewarded with a faint half smile.

"Not as often as you might fear, my lady," he assured her. "Such will not happen every day. I think he means to honor your coming, and your house, by introducing you to these friends of his. They are rather- they have influence, lady Andreth. Two of them, I know of, knew your ancestor Bëor, and one, I know for certain, also knew your namesake, Andreth. Perhaps Lord Círdan hopes that meeting you will awaken memories of old friendship, and that they will help to further your learning."

Andreth inhaled. "It is baffling to me."

Elros turned his head, and looked at her, though he hastily looked away again, as if he dared not look at her fully for very long. "What is?"

"Why is he doing this for me?" she asked. "Lord Círdan barely knows me. I am not his daughter, nor even his distant kin. What is he gaining from doing so much for me?"

A smile touched Elros' face at this. "Círdan does not think as one who looks to gain something from every good that he does," Elros nodded around him. "Not long ago, Mithlond was not even here. This house was not here. Círdan helped build everything you see in Mithlond, and is still not finished. If I understand rightly, he had to be pressed to take this house as his own, for he does not think himself as above anyone. He only relented at last, when he promised himself that he would share all that he has with anyone deserving of his aid. My brother and I are beneficiaries of his kindness as you are, and not as much for our own accomplishments as our fortune in being the sons of Eärendil, for Círdan was a friend to our father, and has not forgotten that friendship. You are the daughter of his friend, Beldir, of whom he thought highly, and he wishes to honor that friendship in helping you."

"You are staying here, in Círdan's house also?" Andreth felt her heart grow still.

Elros nodded, and gestured upward with a lift of his chin, toward the floors above them. "In the wing opposite from your own."

In that moment, the doors before them creaked open, and Andreth felt her heart jump.

"Here," Elros urged, bringing his hand forward, and offering it to her. "Do not worry, my lady, I will stay at your side until the end, and after, if you wish me to do so."

Her eyes flashed of a sudden to Elros at his words, but whipped forward again, as she heard Círdan's voice clearly as it rang out, "Your highness, my lords, and my lady, I present to you, my new ward, the lady Andreth, daughter of Beldir, descendant of the House of Bëor the friend of Finrod, and chief of the first house of the Edain."

"What if I trip?" Andreth hissed, her hand lifting, reaching for his own.

"You won't," Elros voice resounded from beside her as his fingers, warm, certain, and assuring, found and gripped hers.

Through his hand, she felt, or thought she felt, a surge of energy as if something in him was passing into her, and then suddenly, her feet felt light, and her fear, though it did not immediately go away, receded enough that a measure of confidence filled her.

Drawing in a breath, her fingers pressed against Elros', she stepped through the doors into the brightly lit hall, summoning a whisper of cloth and movement as those seated a moment before, all rose, as one to their feet as at a queen's arrival.

Andreth felt herself shiver, and in response, Elros' hand gently tightened, offering her wordless comfort.

Nearest her, stood Círdan, half turned, his face warm and welcoming, and anxious as well, as if he shared her trepidation. His chair at the table's head, sat empty, and to his immediate right, stood Elrond, his eyes, unblinking, fixed upon his brother and Andreth.

Beside Elrond, stood a lovely elven woman with ivory skin, and soft waves of flowing golden hair. Her gown was creamy white, and hung from her form like a smooth cloud. Andreth felt herself swallowing stiffly. This lady's beauty easily outshone Aelin's, and Andreth was glad for the promise she had made to herself not to feel inadequate before such ladies. No doubt, this elven lady was as kind as she was lovely, and could even make a good friend, if Andreth permitted her. Beside the lady, a handsome, noble-looking elven man sat, silver hair smooth down his back, and clad in finely woven robes that were alike to the woman's gown in color. From the entwined fingers of the two, Andreth assessed that the two were married. Beside the lady's husband stood another man, tawny-haired, and Andreth realized from the curve of his ears, and the scruff of a youthful beard, he was a mortal, of some few years older than herself.

Across from these four, sat two empty chairs at Círdan's left hand, as he had said, and two elven men, both golden haired, standing beside two others. These fair-haired elves were clad in robes of green and brown, and were of slighter build than the lady's silver-haired husband, though still sturdy of limb. At the head of the table opposite Círdan, stood the only dark-haired elf in the room aside from Elros and Elrond. His robes were more somber than the others, a robe of dark gray overlaying a tunic of midnight blue. A circlet of silver, fashioned like twining vines, encircled his dark hair, resting upon his brow. His eyes were sober and steady, and Andreth suspected that this man was the _highness_ whom Círdan had addressed before her entrance.

At the far end of the hall, a few servants stood, and Andreth smiled fleetingly, recognizing Aelin among them. Aelin and her companions were waiting perhaps, for the ceremony to end to begin serving the meal. A warm, welcome scent wafted from small doors behind them, a promise of roasted meats, of warm, crusty breads, and sweet fruit.

Andreth felt her stomach grumble within her,and she remembered that she had eaten nothing since breakfast. But she lifted her chin, gripping Elros' fingers more firmly, and waited as he drew to a stop beside Círdan as the eyes of the guests fixed upon Andreth.

"My lady Andreth," Círdan said, addressing her, though his voice lifted for the others to hear as he gestured to the dark haired elven king, "may I present to you, Gil-Galad, King of the Noldor." The elven king offered her a faint smile, and a polite, though terse, nod of his head. Andreth swallowed hard, and dropped into as graceful as curtsy as she could manage. At her side, Elros, also, bowed, his hand ever securely clasping hers.

"Lord Oropher of the fabled realm of Doriath, and his son Lord Thranduil," Círdan continued, and the golden-haired elves at Gil-Galad's right, nodded their heads to her. "Lady Galadriel daughter of Finarfin, and her lord, Celeborn," Círdan added as the lady and her lord inclined their heads gently toward her, and smiled their greetings.

_Daughter of Finarfin_, Andreth thought to herself. Sister, then, of Aegnor, who loved Andreth, her namesake. _Had this lady, then, known Andreth herself? _

"And Master Hathel the stonemason, son of Helendir, also a distant descendant of the house of Bëor," finished Círdan. The mortal man, as the others had, nodded his head toward her, his eyes upon her, and smiled.

Andreth pursed her lips, and nodded back, though she dropped her eyes, disconcerted at the mortal man's fixed gaze. Against her fingers, Elros' fingers tightened ever so slightly as Andreth dropped in a final curtsy to the guests, then, following Elros' gentle urging, moved to her seat.

His hand dropped hers, and for a fleeting moment Andreth felt lost, before she realized that Elros was merely pulling out her chair for her to sit upon.

She lifted her eyes meeting Elros' gaze for the first time since entering the room. His smile, warm with praise and assurance, warmed Andreth to her core, and she returned his smile as she took the seat he offered her at Círdan's immediate left.

As she sat, so did all the others save for Elros who stood behind her chair. This, apparently, was the signal for the servants to come forward with the dishes for the meal.

Still warm with the apparent success of her introduction, Andreth raised her eyes, smiling as Elros took his seat beside her. He returned her smile and nodded, his eyes gleaming with praise. She turned forward and glanced across the table to Elrond, hoping to share a friendly glance with him as well. But his eyes, when they met hers, did not smile, not at first, for they were distant, almost cold until, as she winced at his expression, it reluctantly softened into a terse smile, and he offered her a nod.

She felt a presence at her side, and a gentle hand touched her shoulder. Andreth looked up into Aelin's eyes, and saw the encouragement there as the elven lady lifted a pitcher, and filled the cup at Andreth's hand with a delightfully violet liquid, then withdrew.

Andreth turned back to look across the table, now seeing the lady Galadriel's eyes upon her, much more kind and welcoming than Elrond's had been a moment before.

Galadriel smiled as their eyes met, and spoke, her voice light, soft, yet also powerful as well. "You are a descendent of Bregor, the brother of your namesake?" The lady's lips moved in a smile that showed she was pleasantly surprised as she studied Andreth's face.

"Yes, my lady," Andreth returned meekly, to which Galadriel smiled.

She became only vaguely aware of servants beside her, filling her plate with good things to eat, so interested was she in the words of the lady Galadriel.

"It is no wonder, for yours is her face, almost to its last detail. Save for your hair." Galadriel looked across the table toward the two silvan elves as if for confirmation, and the younger elf, Thranduil, nodded.

"I met only her brother, for I did not meet Andreth herself," Thranduil said, leaning forward to address Andreth. "And only briefly, but I can see Bregor's likeness in you, my lady."

Andreth drew in a breath as Galadriel smiled as at a distant memory. "Her hair was dark, like the night sky," she said. "Yours, though, is like-,"

Galadriel pursed her lips, trying to find words to finish her thought, but Elros spoke for her.

"Like threads of gold, and copper, and bronze, melded together," he said. "And when the wind catches it, it is like a glistening flag."

Galadriel smiled and nodded to this, though across from her, Andreth noted that Elrond did not speak, nor even look up, his eyes narrowing at his plate. Almost roughly, he speared a small piece of sliced apple, and bit it, chewing with determination.

"Where, young one, did you dwell before today?" asked Celeborn, his voice deep and gentle.

"Away to the north and west," she answered, looking down at last to study the contents of her plate. A steaming slice of venison sat beside an array of sliced apples, and a thick slice of soft, buttered bread. She felt her mouth moisten. "Among some of the scattered settlements of mortals. On foot, it took the greater part of the day from my friend and I to travel here." She glanced at Círdan and smiled. "I am glad that Maidh took her back." Círdan returned the smile.

Lifting the fork beside her plate, she stabbed a slice of apple as she had seen Elrond do, and bit into it.

Spices and sweetness filled her mouth, and Andreth drew in a sigh at the sensation, wishing immediately to stab another slice and push it eagerly into her mouth, though she refrained, and held herself back.

"Your friend?" Oropher, Thranduil's father queried politely.

"Her name is Firiel," Andreth volunteered willingly, swallowing the bite of sweet fruit. She felt herself growing warmer and confident, despite Elrond's sad eyes, and lifted her knife, slicing a piece of venison. It cut easily. "She helped raise me from infancy after my mother died, and when my father fell in war, she became all that I had."

The slice of venison found its way into her mouth, and she chewed, relishing the sweetness of the meat, and the ease with which she chewed. Always before, when she had been fortunate enough to recieve a gift of venison from a neighbor, or trade for a bit of the meat in the market, it had always been tough, and difficult to chew. But this was marvelously tender.

"You are here to study?"

These words came from Gil-Galad, seated at the end of the table. "Yes, my lord-," Andreth caught herself, "Your highness."

Gil-Galad's easy smile conveyed his forgiveness of the slip.

"What do you wish to learn?" his voice was resonant, yet kind, and as Andreth met his eyes, he offered her a gentle smile. Perhaps King Gil-Galad was not so aloof as she had first thought.

"Everything I am permitted," she said.

"My first surmise, Lady Andreth," cut in Círdan, "was that your greatest interest is in the study of history, stories that have been. Though I think you would enjoy learning many things along with your reading of history books."

Andreth felt herself sitting up straighter as the silver-haired elf lifted his cup, and drew a thoughtful sip.

"You may, my lady, enjoy learning some of the arts of our people. Dancing, and music I think, and the weaving of tapestries. Aelin told me you were particularly entranced by the tapestries hanging in the main hall. Riding, I suppose you would enjoy very much, and the art of medicine and healing; I think it would even be of benefit to you, my lady, to learn some skill with weapons."

"Weapons?" Andreth started at this, and shot a glance at Galadriel for confirmation, wondering if the ancient shipwright were jesting.

Galadiel smiled amused at Andreth's surprise, and lifted a fork to her lips, taking a delicate bite of sliced apple. "Elven women know how to defend themselves at need," she said, meeting Andreth's eyes with a bright gaze. "It would do you good, I think."

"If she requires a tutor, I would be pleased to teach her the skills of riding, and of weaponry," Elros said at her shoulder.

Across from her, Elrond sat up quickly, opening his mouth as if to speak.

"Marvelous," Círdan praised. "So you shall be, Lord Elros. And Lord Elrond, you know much of herbs and of healing, and I think young Andreth would learn much from your tutelage in that skill."

Elrond sagged back in his seat. "Yes, my lord," he agreed.

"And you are how many years, young one?" Gil-Galad asked. To this, she lifted her eyes, glad to be drawn away from the worry that Elrond's morose expression caused her.

"Nineteen," she returned.

To this, Galadriel's smile quavered, her eyes softening. "And you have seen, in the brief life you have lived thus far, much of the loss and sorrow that we have seen."

"No doubt, you have borne it with the strength that is in the blood of the house from which we are both descended. The women of our house have always been as strong as they are beautiful."

These words came from the mortal man, Hathel, who had not spoken before now. His voice was deeper and rougher than those of the elven men, sounding to her ears, almost out of place. When she lifted her eyes to meet his, he grinned, and to her chagrin, winked.

"The mortal descendents of Bregor, I understand, are few." Beside her, Elros spoke now, his crisp words directed toward the mortal man. "It is great fortune, then, that Lord Círdan would know you, one who is so close a kinsman to Lady Andreth. Perhaps a near cousin."

The mortal Hathel's brows raised at the faint bite within Elros' words, but he grinned, as at a challenge, and returned in an easy voice, "Perhaps not so close kin as you and your brother, my lord, for you are _Peredhil, _as I understand, and have mortal ancestry through both your grandsires. Bregor, I understand, is your ancestor as well. Thus, I fear I may not be able to claim so a lose a kinship to this fair lady as you and Lord Elrond."

"I fear that my brother and I cannot claim the honor of being so close in kinship to her as you likely can, master stonemason," Elros said, and his words were soft and fierce. "Between he and I and the Lady Andreth, any blood kinship unfortunately, is vastly remote."

Hathel made a soft sound in his throat that sounded almost like a scoff before Círdan cleared his throat somewhat vehemently.

"My lord, Oropher," he called out, his words and smile addressing the elder elf beside Elros. "I understand that you mean not to stay in Mithlond long."

"Yes," Oropher answered, his words also somewhat stronger than needed to be as his eyes moved between the elven man beside Andreth, and the mortal man at Gil-Galad's left hand. "Now that the darkness has been defeated, we and our people have hopes of crossing the Ered Luin, and establishing a silvan kingdom beyond."

He glanced toward his son, to which Thranduil nodded his agreement.

"Ah," Círdan lamented, though with an indulgent smile. "I suppose the love of the sea is not in everyone's heart."

Good-natured smiles passed around among the elves at these words, and Andreth smiled as well, lifting her cup to her lips, and sipping at the sweet wine it contained. But as she looked beside her at Elros, her smile faded. For his lips were pursed, and his eyes were fixed upon the mortal Hathel, who returned his stare with equal determination, though with a faint smile on his lips as if he appeared to enjoy witnessing the elf lord's ire.

"Elros?" she asked, leaning toward him, and touching a hand to his wrist.

To this, Elros' silent fury seemed to melt away, and he turned to her, a smile softening his lips. "What is it, my lady?"

"I-, er, nothing," Andreth sighed, and dropped her eyes to her plate.

Elros' hand reached out, the tips of his fingers barely squeezing hers before he released it, and Andreth smile, though she did not look up, choosing instead, to focus on the food, remembering her hunger from the morning.

Had she looked up, she would have noted Elrond's eyes downturned as hers were, his gaze trouble. Past Galadriel and Celeborn, Hathel's eyes had also fallen to his plate, his gaze shadowed, and brooding.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The last faint glimmers of the dying day were fading from the horizon, and the bright evening star gleamed in the night sky as Andreth sat at one end of a delicately wrought bench upon a wide veranda on the western side of Círdan's house. Above her, the purple velvet of the night sky spread above her, stars slowly flickering to life across the darkening expanse. A carved balustrade, woven through with clinging vines sprinkled through with silver flowers, bordered the veranda except where a set of steps dropped down to a pebbly path that led away over the grassy bluff. The same path she remembered having seen as she and Firiel had come up to the house from the north gates of Mithlond. From where she sat, the path ended at the edge of the bluff where it dropped down out of sight. Andreth could hear the whisper of surf rolling against the sand, and drew in a deep breath of the sweet salty air. Were she to follow that path, she remembered, she would find stone steps leading down toward the water, bordered by a wide stretch of white sand. And if she walked along that sand, around the jutting corner where the bluff rose above the sea, what then would she find?

Andreth drew in a broken breath as she wondered. She lifted her arm and rested it on the curved armrest beside her, and leaned her head back, letting her breath come and go slowly.

Círdan's meal had ended some time ago, and Círdan had guided his guests out here to enjoy the last rays of the sunset, glasses of sweet wine, and friendly talk. The elves had been kind to her, especially Galadriel who had agreed to tutor her in weaving, and had seemed truly pleased that she was in their company. Hathel did not linger long, and while Andreth noted his absence after only a short time on the veranda, she did not think long on it, for her gaze continually strayed toward Elros where he lingered at her side, meeting her eyes now and again, though he did not speak. Elrond had hovered nearby as well, though he stood further away, his eyes down, and his mouth unsmiling, until as if at a sudden thought, he had come to Elros' side, and murmured something in his brother's ear.

Elros had nodded then, a concerned look coming into his eyes, and followed Elrond back inside.

Andreth had stayed, faintly disconcerted at his departure, though she had continued to smile and talk with Galadriel, sipping now and again at the sweet violet wine in her glass, half hoping that eventually Elros would come back, but he had not.

Galadriel and the other elves at last had given their farewells, and Andreth was alone now, both relieved and sad at her solitude. She had found this bench against the wall of the house, her hope fading, like the sunset, that Elros even now, would come back, and sit down beside her, gracing her with his smile, his warm, deep voice lightening her heart with friendly words.

Was this how her ancient namesake had felt, waiting day after day, year after year for Aegnor to return after she had stood with him him upon the shores of Aeluin, and had seen the unspoken love in his eyes, only to see him turn and walk away?

Andreth shook herself, chiding herself for her foolish thoughts. Indeed it was late, and even with eyes gazing into the western sky, she was falling into dreams.

Perhaps it was time to rise, and go back inside, she decided as she stifled a yawn, and thought of the cloud soft bed waiting for her in her new bedchamber. Her studies would begin the next day, and she should find her rest.

Andreth sighed, then moved to rise.

"You look like an elven maiden with a silmaril upon your brow, sitting there beneath the starlight," murmured a deep, resonant voice.

Andreth started, and jerked upright, for she had thought she was alone.

Andreth scrambled to her feet as Hathel climbed the steps from the path to the veranda, his boots scuffing on the stone as he came.

"Forgive me," he said, offering her a penitent grin at her startled expression. "I did not mean to frighten you."

"I was not frightened, sir," Andreth said, turning her eyes down. "Startled, but only a little."

"Even so, my apologies," he said, turning his eyes down to the vine entwined railing at his side, and reached out, touching a finger to one of the silver flowers. "And please, call me Hathel."

Andreth swallowed, her throat grown stiff. "You have not returned to your own dwelling yet?"

"No," he said. "I was walking along the shoreline, enjoying the music of the surf."

He drew a deep breath. "But then I realized the hour was growing late, and I thought perhaps I would return home. I thought I might come this way on my return to the city, in the faint chance that I might see you, and leave you my compliments. For I fear my departure was perhaps more hasty than it should have been, and it was ungracious of me not to bid you farewell." He gently plucked the small flower and studied it before he winced, and his face darkened in a blush. "Especially after I so boldly winked at you during supper. I only meant it as silent commisseration to a fellow mortal in the midst of elves, and did not mean to appear so forward. I hope you will forgive me."

With his eyes turned from hers, Andreth studied the mortal man. His robe and tunic were finely made. He was tall, with angular features, his tauny hair hanging to broad shoulders. In the starlight, he did not appear so uncouth as she had first thought him. And he was behaving very graciously.

"Of course," she returned, her voice soft.

To this, Hathel lifted his eyes, and offered her a tentative smile it was truly an honor to meet you," he said as he stepped toward her, and held out the small flower to her. "It would be a privilege to be the friend of one so elven-fair as you."

Andreth studied the proffered flower. Finally, she lifted her hand, hesitant, and took it.

"You flatter me, Master Hathel," she said suddenly finding it impossible to met Hathel's eyes, she turned and took a few steps toward the balustrade, resting her hands upon it, the slender stem of the silver flower still twined in her fingers. From where she stood, she could see the lights of Mithlond gleaming down the slope of the bluff before the river emptied into the widening gulf. "I am as other mortal women. I am merely Lord Cirdan's ward for a time, and only made so by his generosity, and no great accomplishments for which I can boast."

"But Lord Cirdan does not simply let anyone dwell in his own house," Hathel said, stepping near, though he seemed to sense her trepidation, and kept his distance. "I have known him since I was a boy. My father and his father before him, quarried stones, which Lord Cirdan and his builders then shape for this city. I live down in Mithlond, in fine rooms, to be sure. But not here. He must see something in you that is- extraordinary."

At his words, Andreth dared a fleeting glance at Hathel, and her heart gave a jump at the softness in his eyes, and the shy, boyish smile upon his lips.

"Your father?" she ventured. "He is a stonemason also?"

Hathel's smile eased, and he looked away. A sinew twitched in his jaw. "He- _was_ a stonemason."

A long moment of silence passed as the soft wind of night brushed a friendly hand over the two of them. At last she spoke, her voice soft. "Did he- fall in the war?"

Hathel drew in a swift breath at this. "I am a thoughtless cur for keeping you from your rest."

He withdrew a step, and offered her a bow. "But may I call on you again?"

Andreth's throat thickened, and her heart clenched tightly. "Of course. I would be pleased to see you again, as I would any cousin, or other near kinsman, for before today, I did not know of any other mortal descendants of Beldir, or Bëor."

"I am not your cousin," Hathel said, his words softened.

Andreth could not think of any words to say to this, and felt a swell of relief and gratitude in her heart when Hathel drew in a sigh, and spoke.

"Goodnight, my lady," he said, and turned away, his head bowed, and dropped down the steps, his feet falling more heavily than when he had climbed them.

"Good night," she murmured to his back. "And Master Hathel-"

He turned back, his eyes soft.

"Please call me Andreth."

A tentative smile touched his lips. "As you wish- Andreth."

She returned his timid smile before she turned away, and moved toward the doors, drawing one open, and ducking into the large main hall. Darker now, though some few candles burned.

She was alone, for all the servants, it seemed, including Aelin, had retired. But she knew her way well enough now, and as a ragged sigh escaped her, her weariness suddenly pulling at her as an unbearable weight, she started for the dimly lit stairs.

...oOo...

Upon a balcony above the western facing veranda, Elros sat in utter silence with his arms wrapped around his knees, gazing through the raling at the mortal maiden below him, confused why she remained though the sky was darkening, and yet pleased that she did not leave. For the starlight was upon her hair, and the pearl in the delicate diadem she wore, so much in size and shape to the pearl he clutched in his fist, glimmered upon her brow. She looked so much like an elven princess, he could not look away. Truly, he could be content to sit here, and watch her all night long sitting upon that bench and gazing so wistfully into the west as she was, as if she were an elven maid desiring to sail there.

Oh, how he wished Elrond had not called him away from her side.

"I must speak to you of our lessons for the lady," Elrond had whispered furtively in his ear when he had caught his arm on the veranda.

He had been agreeable enough at the moment, and had followed Elrond willingly, thinking they would speak only for a few moments, and he could then return to Andreth's side, silently drinking in the light in her eyes, the sheen of her hair in the sunset, and the soft, rounded curve of her delicate ears that he found so strangely alluring. But Elrond had caught his arm again, once they were within the great hall, almost as if he feared Elros would dart away like a naughty child, and had led him to the library, bidding him sit at a table across from him.

"It would not serve her well," Elrond had explained sternly, shoving a thick tome toward his brother, "if we do not polish our own knowledge of the skills we mean to teach her."

"But I am not teaching her _cyphering_," Elros had protested. "I am to teach her riding, and the use of weapons. I know those well enough, and thought-,"

"Trust me," Elrond had insisted, the steel in his eyes allowing for no quarter.

Shaking his head in confused compliance, Elros had opened the book, though he could barely focus on the pages that droned on of various types of blades and their uses, lifting his head now and again as the light faded from the windows, and his hope faded also that he would see Andreth again before the day had faded into night.

Darkness had finally come, and with a heavy heart, he had climbed the stairs to his own chamber, bidding goodnight to his brother, and had come here, only to see her there, alone and still, upon the veranda where he had left her. Perhaps he should have turned about immediately and gone to her, but he had not, electing instead, to sit in silence and watch her, so fair and starlike in the darkness.

Now as he sat here upon his balcony, the sky overspread with full darkness but for the faintest gleam of dark blue on the western horizon, he wondered if indeed he should go down to her, at least to bid her goodnight. Would she welcome him if he did? What would he say to her, or she to him?

Would he startle her from dreams that she did not wish to leave? But she was not asleep, for mortals closed their eyelids when they dreamed, and still she gazed into the night, with her eyes green as young leaves.

Would she let him- his heart leapt at the thought, touch her hand again, perhaps guide her to her chambers, and allow him to bid her goodnight at her door?

Elros' heart exulted at the thought, and he moved to rise, so that he might go down to her, when a sudden movement caught his eye, and Elros stopped, frozen, and watched with bated breath as the mortal Hathel climbed the veranda steps and approached Andreth.

From his vantage, Elros observed the exchange of man and maiden, noting every word and movement, smiling in one moment, and frowning in another. His heart clenched as he watched her hand extend, and accept the bright silver flower from Hathel, that should have, Elros chided himself, come from his own hand.

He had not known Hathel before, and had thought him brash during supper, wondering why Cirdan would invite such an uncouth mortal to his house. But he seemed not so now. Was he merely behaving so to endear himself to the maiden? Andreth did not seem to know for herself, for she held herself aloof from the mortal man. Elros found a grin come to his lips as she spoke of possible near kinship to Hathel, then barely turned to look at him as Hathel bid her goodnight, and departed.

But his grin faded as Andreth, seeming to be suddenly and deeply weary, entered the house at last, and disappeared from his view.

At last, Elros moved, clambering to his feet, and hurrying through his chamber to the door that led into the outer hall. He opened and shut his door in silence, mindful of Elrond probably sleeping, in the room beside him, then turned and hurried down the hall.

The great hall opened to his view, and the balcony surrounding it.

Andreth, fair as a star in the darkness, had just reach the last step when he saw her. Without seeing him, she turned toward the hall that would lead to her own bedchamber, brushing one hand across her eyes in a gesture of deep weariness. In her other hand, she still clutched the flower that Hathel had given her. That _Elros_ should have given her, if he had not been so entranced by the vision of her, sitting there in the starlight as Thingol had been by the vision of Melian in the woods of Nan Elmoth, that he had not gone down to her sooner.

Elros paused at the railing, his hands pressed against the wrought metal and watched her go. He wanted to call out to her, but that would not do, for it would waken the whole house. Could he dart around the encircling balcony and rush to her side? But what could he do now for her, what deed could he do, to outshine Hathel in her eyes?

Elros stopped himself at the thought. What was he doing? Did he truly perceive Hathel as a- a _rival_? For Andreth's affections?

Elros pondered the thought, his brow furrowed as Andreth's weary hand lifted the latch of her door, a latch that he, at the very least, could have lifted for her, and she disappeared into her bedchamber.

From where he stood, he heard the latch fall to with a click, and Elros winced at the finality of the sound. Any real or imagined rivalries aside, his delays had failed her in some way. With a heavy head, he turned back toward his own chamber.

But then a sudden thought brightened his mind like a lightening flash, and Elros lifted his head, a smile finding its way to his lips. There was one thing he could do, one thing, perhaps that _might _redeem him. And with a smile, he turned back, and started through the dark toward the stairs Andreth had just climbed.

Some few minutes later, Elros stood, a fistful of silver flowers in his hand, his chest heaving from his rush, just outside the door of Andreth's bedchamber. No sound came from beyond. She was sleeping peacefully, he hoped as he remembered the night after her attack, when he had touched her palm, and soothed her from a nightmare.

He smiled as he looked down at the flowers gleaming in his hand, and lifted them to his face. He touched a hand to a delicate white petal and inhaled the faint, sweet scent.

"Sleep well, fair Andreth," he murmured in the dark. "May the Valar bless your dreams, and make them sweet."

Stooping, he placed the handful of flowers at the base of her door. Straightening, he drew in a breath and lifted a hand, pressing his palm against her white door. The wood was cool and smooth beneath his hand.

Drawing in a breath that swelled his chest, he held it for a moment before he exhaled, then turned, and walked away.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Andreth opened her eyes, her gaze focusing on the gossamer canopy above her head, and stretched her arms, lacing her fingers behind her head. Her heart felt light now, and happier, and she was pleasantly surprised that she would feel this way. She had fallen asleep the night before feeling a faint sense of rejection, and loneliness. Firiel was still far away, and Elros- he had simply not come back from talking with his brother. Not in the waking world, at least.

She studied the faintly fluttering gossamer with a sigh. Perhaps her contentment and better spirits had something to do with this marvelous bed. It had been as soft as she had imagined, and she had slept deeply, forgetting her troubles, her dreams sweeter and more real than she had ever had before.

Elros had been in them, Andreth remembered with a smile, walking beside her on a long grassy knoll dotted with flowers. Beside them, a sandy slope dropped down to a stretch of white sand lapped by gentle ocean waves that glimmered beneath a full moon. It had seemed so real, she recalled, remembering every detail of his face, his grey expressive eyes, the strong angle of his jaw, the intriguingly tipped peaks of his ears. The feel of the cool, moist sand beneath her bare feet had been real too, the feel and scent of ocean wind in her hair. And when the dream of Elros had touched her hand, she had felt the sensation of his warm, strong fingers as clearly as if he was truly there.

They had not spoken, but Andreth had been content with the silence between them, and as they had walked, Elros had gathered a cluster of flowers in his other hand, and had offered them to her, white blossoms that glowed silver beneath the moonlight, like the single flower Hathel had given her the night before. The scent of the one flower had been sweet, but the whole cluster of flowers the dream of Elros had put into her hands, had filled the air with a fragrance she would never forget.

Andreth sat up, and studied the morning light filling her room. She put a hand to her shoulder, touching her fingers to the cloth of the long, white nightgown that had been laying across the bed waiting for her, when she returned. Aelin must have thoughtfully set it there for her.

She clambered out of bed, and turned, pulling the bedclothes back in place, smoothing them as neatly as she could, then turned to survey the room. The gown she had worn the night before still lay draped across the chair where she had left it, and the diadem carefully placed upon the seat. Andreth moved to the chair, the cool of the floor comfortable against her bare feet, and picked up the dress, stepped toward the large wardrobe, and drapped it over a clothing hook hanging from a long rod among the other dresses that were now hers. Aelin should not have to do every thing for her.

A deep, long breath filled her lungs as Andreth passed a hand over the hanging dresses, marveling at the softness of the fabric, and the variety of color. All of them lovely, and all of them for _her._

Andreth picked up the pearl and silver diadem and turned toward the desk. As she moved toward it she inhaled again, and her smile grew thoughtful. Was it possible for remnants of dreams to linger, even when she was awake? For the scent of the silver flowers from her dream, she realized, seemed to linger in the air about her.

She set the jeweled circlet down and studied the single flower Hathel had given her where she had set it on the desk the night before. Its scent alone could not be strong enough to fill the room as this sweet fragrance was doing.

Her eyes turned now toward the door that led into the hall, and she moved toward it, and touched the latch. Lifting it, she pulled the door open.

A breath of sweetness filled her lungs as her eyes fell to the cluster of flowers at her feet, and her heart jumped. These flowers white and delicate, were so like the flowers in her dream, that a chill, not unpleasant, washed over her skin. Where had they come from? Not Hathel. He had left after giving her the single flower. So- who had left these?

Andreth bent and gathered them up, drinking in their fragrance, and looked up and down the hallway, half expecting to see Elros coming toward her, smiling as she had seen him in her dream.

Elros she did not see, though she did see Aelin just entering the long hallway, a silver tray in her hands, softly clattering with its contents.

Seeing her standing in the doorway, Aelin smiled.

"You are awake, Lady Andreth! I am pleased. You did not come in from the veranda for so long. I am sorry I did not wait up for you."

"I stayed up far later than I should have. Don't be sorry." Andreth said her head as Aelin reached her, and moved aside to let the elven woman pass.

Aelin's brows lifted at the cluster of flowers in her hand as she started across the room to the balcony.

"In Mithlond only one day, and already you have an admirer? Is that why you were so late in returning from the veranda?"

Andreth must have blushed, for Aelin smiled. "I am happy for you. Lord Hathel is a good man for all that I've seen, and a hard worker."

"I like their scent," Andreth said, deciding not to explain the entire truth about where she had obtained the cluster of flowers. "It is not one I could forget."

"They are called _Tindómiel_," Aelin said, nodding to the white blossoms.

"_Star of Morning Twlight_," Andreth repeated softly. "It is a beautiful name."

"For a beautiful flower," Aelin agreed with a smile. "The blossoms keep for days, unwilting, even if you pluck them, though they last longer with water. And they are very lovely. More so at night, and they grow brighter as the night deepens. For beneath moonlight and starlight, especially when the morning star is first visible, they gleam. The glow fades only when the sun at last shows her face. I sometimes gather several for myself, both for their beauty, and their sweet fragrance." Aelin's smile quavered a moment, and her eyes shone with brief wetness before she blinked it away. "They are rare, for they grow only here in Mithlond, near the sea."

She had reached the curtained balcony, and with Aelin's hands full, Andreth pulled the curtains aside, and opened the balcony window for her.

Aelin nodded her thanks, and moved through the doorway, setting the tray upon the table on the balcony.

"You have much to do today," Aelin said, "for your lessons will begin this morning. So I thought that perhaps you might enjoy breakfast here alone on the balcony, before the rush of the day begins."

Andreth nodded her thanks even as her throat tightened at the thought of her lessons. In return for living in this unimagined richness, she would be flooded with lessons of all kinds. Yesterday on her journey here with Firiel, she imagined, if Lord Cirdan even agreed to take her, that she would be sequestered away in some vast library for hours at a time, doing nothing more than reading, and reading, and filling her head with all manner of history and facts. But the ancient shipwright had other more varied plans for her, entirely. A pang of doubt pinched her that she might not live up to the kindly elf's expectations. But she did not show her trepidation, and merely took the chair Aelin indicated before the elven woman withdrew, and left her alone.

She drew in a ragged sigh, nervous, and lonely once again for Firiel as she looked over the breakfast tray, plates and mugs covered over with silver lids.

At this time, far away, Firiel was finishing the morning milking, and letting Lavaniel out to graze while she prepared herself a simple breakfast of porridge and milk. How was she? Andreth worried. Did she miss her? Did she need her back? How was Lavaniel? Was the poor creature confused at her absence, or did she barely notice Andreth was gone? Later today, Andreth decided, if she had a moment, she would write a letter to Firiel. Firiel could not read; she had never felt the need to learn. But perhaps she could have a neighbor read it for her. If nothing else, at least she would know that Andreth was thinking of her.

With a sigh, she lifted the lid of her plate, smiling at the slices of peaches and strawberries, and the thick slice of buttered bread before her, steam still rising from its fluffy surface as if the loaf had been pulled from the oven only minutes before. Lifting the lid from the mug, Andreth took a hesitant sip at the oquirre colored liquid, smiling in pleasure as the sweet taste of pears filled her mouth.

Another cup contained only water, and Andreth, instead of drinking it, took up the cluster of flowers and settled them in the cup, for she wanted their sweetness to last as long as it could.

Leaning forward upon an elbow, Andreth closed her eyes and smiled as she lifted the cup of pear juice, and look another long, languid sip. The rigors of her lessons would soon begin, but for now, she was perfectly at ease, and fully content. And she smiled as she let her thoughts go back to the sweetness of her dream of Elros.

...oOo...

Elros' eyes blinked slowly as he rose from his sleep, his gaze coming into focus on the walls of his room, a bright mural of a hunting party pursuing a white stag through a shadowed forest of browns and deep greens.

He drew in a sigh, propping himself up on his elbows, and casting his thoughts back to the dream he had had.

Elrond had often spoken to him of his lifelike dreams, the ones involving the fair silver haired maiden he could see, but could not reach across the distant gulf between them. Elros had often envied his brother, for he had never had such clear, lucid dreams. Not until last night.

For the dream had been so lifelike, that even now in the waking world, it remained in his thoughts, as clear as a memory that had actually happened.

But unlike his brother's dreams, his own had not been inhabited by an elf maiden he had never met, and could not touch; rather the fair dream maiden in _his_ night vision had been Andreth, as real and bright as in life, and standing right at his side. She had carried upon her brow the same diadem with the soft white pearl from dinner the night before, but she had also worn a necklace about her smooth white neck, silver, with a matching pearl hanging beneath the hollow of her throat.

In his dream he had touched her hand, and she had smiled, welcoming the gesture by brushing her fingers shyly against his palm. Her eyes had been bright, and inviting as they had walked side by side along a grassy bluff dotted with silver flowers overlooking a vast sea washed in moonlight.

He knew he had been dreaming as he experienced it, but it had been so real. And as he had walked at her side, studying the light in her eyes, and the smile upon her soft lips, brightening as he picked and handed her a cluster of silver flowers, he had a sudden longing to touch more than her hand. He wanted to lift his hands to her face, to explore the lines of her features with his fingers, to run the tip of his finger over the bewitchingly round curve of her ear. But though the warmth in his blood bid him to do so, and more, he had not. For Elros understood propriety, even if it was a dream. Drawing in a sigh, he laced his fingers behind his head and studied the ceiling, painted in a tangle of branches and leaves to immitate a forest canopy.

_Andreth_. He had not thought of it before these last few days, before meeting her, but her name was beautiful. Like a song. And her face and form were were likewise beautiful, with hair the color of gold and russet and bronze, spilling unbound about her slender shoulders, and eyes like young leaves. And her soft, expressive mouth. To say nothing of her shapely, young body.

"_Andreth_," he sighed, now aloud, tasting her name upon his lips. His thoughts had not left the fair mortal since he had turned his back upon her at that little sylvan pool, and he could not tell why, casting silent, wordless prayers to the Valar to help him make sense of all he thought and felt. And as if in answer to his noiseless pleas, she had come yesterday, barely more than a full cycle of the sun from when he had left her. Was her coming itself, somehow, an answer to his quiet prayers? And what of his dream of her last night? It had been so real-

"Elros!" A banging upon his door echoed through the room, throwing cold water over his throughts. Elros thrashed out of bed as Elrond opened the door, and strode through, balancing a silver breakfast tray in one arm.

"Still abed, little brother?" Elrond chuckled though the sound was brief, his eyes studying his brother shirtless, clad in his sleeping breeches, and the unmade bedclothes behind him.

"Did you stay up too late?" Elrond said, setting the tray down upon a small table near his door. "Remember, you promised Lord Círdan you would teach young Mistress Andreth both riding and the use of weapons. And her lessons in horsemanship are to begin this morning, so Lord Círdan says. He expects you to teach her thoroughly, Elros."

"I intend to do so," Elros said, moving to where his brother stood, and picking up a fat strawberry from the plate, and bit into it.

Elrond lifted a brow.

"Do you worry that I will not?"

"I fear you may grow-," Elrond paused, and his eyes grew somber, "distracted, Elros."

"By what?"

Elrond looked down, his jaw growing taut.

"We did not come to Mithlond to tutor mortal- _children_, Elros," Elrond finally said. "We came to help Lord Círdan."

"And what he wishes," Elros returned, his words carrying a stiffness he did not intend, "is for us to help the Lady Andreth gain in learning."

"But why did you so eagerly volunteer to teach the maid both riding and weaponry? Doing so, will take more time than is prudent from helping Círdan and his workmen down in the city."

"She will benefit from my knowledge." Elros answered, "I am highly skilled in riding, and in the use of many different weapons."

"So am I," Elrond shot back, and Elros took a step back, startled at his brother's vehemence. "But I have not offered so much of my time to tutor a mortal who will be gone from this earth in less than a hundred years, taking all her learning and all your effort with her. Yet the towers and buildings of Mithlond, which we came here to help build, will stand for millennia." Elrond swallowed. "Like us."

Elros drew in a short breath. "The lady Andreth is a living maid. She is not fashioned of cold, lifeless stone. The towers of Mithlond cannot feel gratitude for our efforts, nor give us kindness or friendship."

Elrond's mouth tightened in a frown."And why do you call her a _lady_? She is a descendant of the House of Bëor to be sure, but she is not nobly born, nor-"

"Lord Círdan himself addresses her as such, and-"

"Yes, but you called her _lady_, as if she were a noblewoman, from your first meeting."

"She-" Elros sighed, "seems suited to the title. I- do not think I could call her anything else. Her very presence carries with it an air of nobility. Regardless of her birth, she _is_ a lady. To me."

To this, Elrond dropped his face. Elros could see a muscle twitch beneath the flesh of his jaw.

"Elrond," Elros muttered in a softened voice and swallowed hard. "Do you dislike Andreth?"

"I-," Elrond snapped. He looked up, then dropped his eyes again. He studied the floor a long moment in thought, and Elros watched the side of his face, his eye stern and set, his jaw tight. Slowly his brother's expression relaxed and he looked up again, meeting Elros' eyes.

"No," he said at last. "I do not- _dislike_ her. Andreth is a fine, and honorable maiden, and a credit to her race. I merely-,"

Elros' brows as Elrond's eyes filled with sudden wetness.

"I worry about you, Elros." He stepped toward his brother, and took both Elros' shoulders in his hands. "You are all I have left. Mother and Father are gone. Maglor and Maedhros are gone. I have only you."

Elrond swallowed hard and looked away. "Perhaps I worry without need. But I will breath more comfortably when you have finally decided upon your choice that Eönwë gave us." Elrond looked up again, his eyes stern and pleading at once. "See that you choose as you should, Elros. And soon. Do not let distractions draw you away from your destined path."

Elros studied his brothers stern, pleading eyes. At last he spoke. "I promise you, by all that is dear to me, Elrond, I will choose as the All Father wills me."

Elrond relaxed a little. "As the_ All Father_ wills. Not as any living being wills, man or woman, elven or- mortal."

Elros looked down, then gave a nod.

"Good," Elrond muttered, his voice soft with relief. His arms fell to his sides. "That is all I ask, little brother."

...oOo...

With her chin in her hands and her eyes gazing away toward the distance where he far home was with Firiel, Andreth did not hear the knock upon her door until it had sounded the second time, and louder.

"Ah, forgive me," she called, "come in!" and a youthful maid servant had entered, hurrying toward the open doors of Andreth's balcony.

The maiden who looked no older than Andreth herself, but was easily ages older, stopped in the balcony doorway with a smile and a fleeting curtsy.

"Lord Elros wishes you to meet him down at the stables at your soonest convenience, Lady Andreth," the girl said, "and that you wear clothing comfortable for riding. Lady Aelin will be coming soon to help you pick something out, if you wish." Then like a shy little bird, the girl turned and scurried away.

Drawing in a tremulous breath, Andreth pushed away from the table, her half eaten meal, and the cluster of white flowers that Aelin had called _Tindómiel_. Her heart beat quickened as she thought over the girl's message.

Elros wished her to meet him. She knew it was only to begin her instruction, but even so, she felt a flush of warmth darkening her cheeks.

She turned from the table, but then as an afterthought, turned back, plucked up one of the flowers from her water cup, and tucked it into her hair before turning, and going back inside.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"Let yourself be as one with your mount, my lady," the voice of Elros called out to her as Andreth sat astride Maidh's back, and rubbed her hands against the mannish riding breeches Aelin had bidden her to wear. The gentle wind here was cool against her bare neck, for Aelin had twined her hair back into a single braided rope. But still Andreth could feel the sticky sweat on her skin beneath the tunic she wore.

The hooves of Elros' stallion, Nórui, pounded the soft, grassy earth of the wide plain from behind her, slowing to a stop at her side.

She could see him out of the corner of her eye, clad in riding breeches, boots, and tunic of grey and blue. His hair, unlike her own, was loose but for a pair of braids behind his ears, and the sun caught in his hair as the gentle wind blew it back from his sturdy shoulders. His own eyes were on her face, and seemed to fix upon the single white flower that Aelin had tucked into her hair above her ear, although she could not say for certain, for she dared not look up at him.

She had been following his instructions for the greater part of the morning, or trying to, yet aside from a few rudimentary skills that children could easily learn, she felt no more skilled now, than when she had first clambered onto the white mare's back, almost mounting the poor horse backward, before she realized her mistake, lowered herself back to the ground, and changed her feet in the stirrup, her face blazing all the while.

Before today, the few times she had ridden a horse, had always been behind someone else. She had never, of herself, been the one in command. And so Lord Elros had had to begin his instruction with the most simple of lessons. The first few skills she had picked up easily enough, but now, for the last several minutes, he had been trying to teach her how to trot with her horse, keeping herself even in the saddle. Yet she could not learn how to hold herself steady, and even now, her teeth felt terribly jarred from the horse's jogging which she could not roll with as easily as Elros seemed to, on his copper stallion. She was weary and frustrated, not at her mount, nor at her teacher, but at herself. Worse, her heart felt discouraged. Lord Círdan, she feared, had made a terrible mistake. She was no one special, no wise or graceful lady. She could not even learn the simplest of skills. Elros, she was certain, was not pleased with her, either. He would not show it, high, lofty elf that he was, but surely he felt in his heart a growing distain for her, and her clumsy mortal ways.

"Be patient with yourself, my lady," he said, now at her elbow, as if he sensed her thoughts. "Remember, this is your first day. The skill may not be there at first, but it will come as long as you strive for it. I promise."

Swallowing thickly, she looked up into his eyes, and found a faint smile upon his face, a gentle, encouraging smile.

"Will it?" she asked, struggling to keep the frustration out of her voice, for his sake.

Elros smiled and nodded, reaching down to pat Nórui's shapely neck. He leaned forward, neaerer to Andreth's and she could not help but manage a faint smile at the warmth in his sea grey eyes. "I promise," he said again.

She dropped her eyes to Maidh's creamy mane, and asked, "But truly my lord, did you ever yourself, nearly mount a horse_ backward_?"

Elros' smile grew into a lopsided grin at this. "In truth, my lady? I fear the answer is yes."

Her eyes shot up once again, astonished at his answer, for _elves _never made such mistakes. From all that she saw, the elder race fairly glided through all that they did, barely touching the earth. In all that they did, even with the most simple of tasks, there was always a grace that seemed inherent in their very blood. Even when she had found him milking the goat Lavaniel the day after he had saved her, there was a flow to his movements, that seemed as natural as the flow of a gentle stream, but which she knew she could never possess herself.

"You jest my lord," she said, giving a faint laugh.

"Indeed, I do not," he returned with a shake of his head. "I was but a lad, perhaps only about this high." He held his hand against his arm, indicating his once smaller stature. "Maglor brought me a pony, just the size for a boy my-,"

Elros suddenly paused, and his eyes shot to Andreth's as if he had suddenly realized the infraction he had committed.

Andreth dropped her eyes at the change upon his face, a mingling of sorrow and apology at his unwitting mention of one of the seven sons of Fëanor. The name of Maglor did not cause her as much discomfort as it might an elf, but still, she shivered a little to hear it. _Silmarilli; rash, impetuous oaths; bloody kinslayings; and terrible, unfathomable tragedy... _They all swirled in her mind like a tragic whirlpool, one in which she herself was not caught, and the true depth she could not fathom, though it was frightening enough, knowing she could not fathom it.

"My lord?" she said, and reached out as if to touch his arm, though she pulled her hand back quickly as Elros looked up. She saw the conflicting emotions in his eyes, and realized he felt more deeply the tragedy of the Fëanorians than she, and perhaps many other elves. He had known and cared for two of them, their mercy having spared his life, and Elrond's, though many elves dear to them had not been fortunate enough to garner the same mercy.

"My lady?" he choked.

"Tell me-," she stammered, lifting her eyes again to his, "of the pony?"

Elros' eyes softened at this, and took on a grateful look. "He was a plucky little thing," he said, a tentative grin tugging his mouth upward. "Dirty white, and as loyal as a hound. Maglor said he'd found him wandering alone, without herd or master, hounded by wolves. He took pity on the poor beast, and brought him to me. I could not contain my joy when I realized he was for me, and straightaway I went to mount him, putting my right foot in the stirrup as you did, but unlike you, I did not realize my mistake in time. For in my enthusiasm, I swung clear to his back."

Andreth smiled at the image in her head of a dark haired little elfling, fully mounted backward on a horse.

"But that is not all," Elros continued, and his eyes brightened at the memory. "The moment I was mounted, he leapt away, me backward in the saddle as I wailed for someone to help me."

Elros chuckled, and Andreth found herself laughing softly as well, a hand lifted to her mouth as she envisioned what he was describing.

Elros continued. "Elrond was racing behind me, waving his arms, shouting, and laughing as well, with-,"

He paused again, his eyes sobering.

"Please continue my lord," she pleaded, biting her lip, her eyes fixed hopefully upon his face.

"With Maglor, and Maedhros coming behind him," Elros said softly. "Maedhros reached me first. I was terrified, and even with the pony stopped, he had to pry me from the saddle." His smile twitched. "It was days before I could approach Huan again, that is the name I gave my pony, and several more days before I would dare to ride him. But he forgave me, and I him, and we became good friends."

"And what became of him?"

Elros looked at her, and smiled sadly. "As with all mortal beings, good Huan grew old and died."

Andreth lowered her eyes and nodded, her smile fading. "Of course. I should have known. I forgot it would have been so long ago. I am sorry."

"Do not be," Elros said with a ragged sigh. "_I_ am sorry-," he said with a sigh, "if the mention of- my foster fathers troubled you. There are many who do not wish to hear of them at all."

"I was not troubled much," she said, with a shake of her head. "I know of Maedhros and Maglor and their brothers, and their deeds. But only through stories. I know they caused much death and pain, yet you and Lord Elrond are both living witnesses that Maglor and Maedhros were capable of good, as well. And you have pleasant memories of them, which says something. I cannot say that I would not wish great punishment on their souls had I witnessed the kinslayings, or if any that I loved had been slain by them. But I do not think they were as those who take pleasure from causing pain. As it is, I cannot condemn or excuse them, for only Eru Ilúvatar knows them perfectly."

A thoughtful smile touched Elros' lips at this, and he looked fully into Andreth's eyes, holding her gaze, and with her eyes fully upon his own, she could see his eyes clearly as they slid to the flower in her hair, linger a moment, then slide back to meet her own eyes. "Your words are kind, my lady. And wise. Thank you."

Andreth smiled, and dropped her eyes, warming with the pleasure of Elros' thanks. Her heart took courage now, despite her weariness of earlier moments.

"What must I do, my lord, to ride Maidh with more grace?" she asked, too shy, for the moment to look up and meet his gaze.

To this, Elros cleared his throat. "Yes," he said, as if shaking himself from some distraction, and coming to himself again. "Put your weight in the stirrups, and not so much the saddle. Trust Maidh as I do Nórui. Let yourself flow with the movement of the horse. Like this."

He urged Nórui forward into a gentle trot, and rode forward for some distance before circling around. Andreth watched him as he rode, feeling her heartbeat quicken as she studied the grace with which the young elf lord rode, his dark hair and braids catching in the faint wind. His tall, solid form, and the strong chisled lines of his throat, his jaw, and face, shining beneath the sun, and especially the warmth of his sea grey eyes held her gaze more than the technique of his riding. Andreth's face warmed as he drew near once again, an encouraging smile upon his lips.

"Try that," he urged, and Andreth gulped. "Let your knees relax." She nodded, and reached down, giving Maidh a gentle pat before she drew in a breath and gently nudged the white mare with her heels, urging her forward.

At her bidding, Maidh broke into a trot, and as Elros bid her, Andreth strove to put more weight into the stirrups, letting the rise and fall of her knees absorb more of the movement of the horse's legs. Letting herself flow with the movement of the mare, the ride did seem much less jarring than before.

"Wonderful!" Elros exclaimed at her side, and Andreth reined in, turning Maidh's head, to more easily to see Elros' ecstatic expression as he galloped near. "You did well!" he praised, drawing his stallion to a stop at her side.

"Did I?" she pleaded, her heart singing at the praise on his face and in his voice. "I had feared at first that-,"

"But you pressed on, despite that fear!" Elros cut in, beaming.

She searched his face anxiously. "But, my lord, I still have so much to learn."

"Yes," he agreed, "but do not let yourself become discouraged, even when things grow difficult. No one, not even Lord Círdan himself, began life knowing all there is to know. We all learn and grow with effort, and-,"

Elros stopped speaking, and a thoughtful smile drew up the corners of his mouth. "My lady, do you know where pearls come from?"

Andreth's lips parted at the sudden change in his words, but she nodded tentatively. She had seen a few pearls in her life, and had marveled at their creamy, rainbow sheen, thinking them beautiful; especially the lovely pearl in the silver circlet Aelin had fastened into her hair the night before. "From the sea, yes? From- within the shells of oysters?"

Elros grinned and nodded. "Do you _how_ they form?"

Andreth dropped her eyes to Maidh's flowing mane, feeling suddenly foolish, for she felt she should know the answer. "No. I fear what learning I have had, my lord, has been lore and stories of Elves and Men. I know little of animals, or herbs, or-"

"Then I will tell you." Elros was reaching into a small pouch on his belt as he spoke. "Now and then, a grain of sand makes its way into an oyster's protective shell, and to the sensitive body of the oyster." He held something in his fist now, which Andreth could not see. "The rough sand grain pains the oyster, and so it begins to lay a smooth, protective coat around the grain, so that it does not trouble the oyster any more. Over time, these once small, rough grains of sand become this."

Now, Elros opened his fist. Something gleamed within the center of his palm and Andreth leaned forward, her eyes widening as he held out his palm for her inspection.

A bright, gleaming pearl rested in his hand, smooth and symmetrical; full and round at one end, while the end tapered to a nearly perfect point, giving the lovely pearl the distinctive shape of a raindrop.

"Oh, it's beautiful," she breathed, longing to touch it, though she did not. "Where- who- who gave it to you?"

A fleeting sensation of disappointment twisted her heart at the thought that some lovely, flawless elf maiden had gifted it to him. A sweetheart of his, that she had not known about before.

"Lord Círdan gave it to me, a few days ago, when I first arrived here. He had just found it washed up upon the sand, only minutes before I went down to the shore below his house, to see him." Elros' smile softened as at a pleasant memory. "And he said that it came into his mind, that it was for me. To help me-," he swallowed, and his brow furrowed as if he struggled for words. "Discover myself," he continued. "To know my destiny. It came, Lord Círdan said, from Lord Ulmo himself."

"The Vala of all water," Andreth murmured, feeling again suddenly small and unimportant, remembering who Elros was, and her own insignificance. Why did she dare to let her blood warm at the sight of him? She was weak, flawed and insignificant- and mortal. He was as fair and strong, as bright and eternal as a star.

"You, my lady, are like this pearl."

The gentle tone of Elros' voice cut into her somber thoughts, and sent a wave of warmth rushing through her body.

"You may think yourself flawed, and insignificant now," Elros said, his words eerily echoing her own thoughts as his gentle grey eyes studied hers. "Yet you are even now, as wise and good as you are lovely, my lady. And you have a great destiny before you. I cannot say what it is, and I am not certain if Lord Círdan himself knows. But I am certain that he senses something about you, my lady. It is more than who your fathers were. Something tells him that greatness is in you." The warm in his eyes deepened. "And I feel the same whisperings myself, my lady."

Elros smiled, and edged Nórui nearer to Andreth's mount. He reached out, and grasped her elbow, gently squeezing, before his fingers slid down her forearm, and over her palm before gently linking through her own fingers. "The Valar know you, and they know your heart. Be patient with yourself, Andreth."

Andreth's heart flipped a little at the pressure of Elros' fingers against her own, as well as the soft sound of her own name upon his lips.

"I will try, Elros," she said, her voice soft. Her eyes fell to their linked fingers as her memory darted back to her dream of the night before, when she and the dream vision of Elros had held hands just like this on a grassy hill between a silent, starlit sky, and a bright moonwashed sea.

"We should return now," Elros said without meeting her eyes, his tone faintly troubled. He dropped her hand and slipped the small pearl back into the pouch on his belt. He turned back toward Círdan's house where it stood high upon the bluff some distance from where they sat upon their mounts. "You have more lessons, and I have duties of my own to see to as well."

"Oh, yes," Andreth agreed with a sigh, lifting the hand he had held, and gripping Maidh's reins with it. "But you will also begin teaching me the use of certain- weapons?"

"Yes, but later today. Toward evening." Elros nodded, still not looking at her. "Come. Let's go back."

Elros urged Nórui into a trot, and Andreth watched him ride away for a moment, the distance between them increasing, before she too urged Maidh into a trot, supporting her weight in the stirrups as he had taught her, and quickly caught up to him.

As she reached his side, Elros glanced over to her, and their eyes met. His sea grey eyes grew warm as her gaze found his, and he gave her a fleeting smile before he pulled his gaze away again.

...oOo...

Elrond sat upon the seat beneath the wide window that faced east and north, out over the wide meadow beyond Círdan's stables, before the distant trees of the forest. Behind him, near the archway that turned down the hall that led to several rooms, including the rooms where the mortal maiden was staying, two maid servants stood at the balcony that encircled the main hall of Círdan's house. Their voices were hushed as they talked, and Elrond payed no attention to them, his gaze focused upon the pair of riders he could see in the distance upon the grassy meadow.

He had spent the morning down in the city, helping Círdan and his workers with the rising lighthouse, but now he was back, waiting for his brother to return with Andreth. For he meant to begin his own lessons with her, and hoped today, to show her various healing herbs.

The corners of his mouth felt heavy, as did his stomach as he watched his brother and the mortal maiden riding toward the house side by side. He could not hear their words, but he could see the brightness in the maiden's eyes, and the tenderness in his brother's as Elros reached out and touched the maiden's arm, letting his fingers slide down her forearm, and grip her fingers for a moment before releasing her hand. Though the gentle touch did not last long, the heaviness in Elrond's heart remained.

"You look as if the weight of all the world rested upon your shoulders, my young lord."

Elrond turned with a forced smile, and rose to his feet as his friend Galadriel glided near. "My lady," he greeted.

She offered a small smile to the two maid servants, and they curtsied, and scurried away.

"May I sit with you?"

"Of course, my lady," Elrond said with a nod of his head, waiting with his hands at his sides as the golden haired lady sat gracefully beneath the wide window, the skirts of her white gown gathered about her, before he sat as well.

Galadriel did not speak at first as she lay a slender arm upon the sill of the window and gazed out, her eyes fixing upon what he guessed were the distant figures of his brother and the mortal maiden. A faint sigh escaped her, but her expression remained unreadable.

"You are enjoying the Havens, my lady?" Elrond asked, his eyes fixed intently upon her face. She had come to him for some purpose. Of that, he was certain.

"I am," she said quietly. "My kinsman King Gil-Galad and my lord are busying themselves aiding Lord Círdan and his men, down beside the shore as are our friends Oropher and his son. For myself, I have been finding enough to occupy my own time. Their are friends enough here, and books enough to keep me occupied for many days. And the sweet scent of the ocean is enchanting."

Her smile was small, but genuine, and Elrond felt the tension in his face and muscles easing slowly. The lady Galadriel had a way about her, that could always put him at ease, and Elrond was grateful for that gift of hers, now. He sensed in her a concern for him for which he was grateful, a tenderness that recalled to him his faint memories of his own mother.

"But I have not come to sit with you to speak of myself, young Elrond." Her eyes remained focused out the window on the approaching pair of horses. "Tell me," she said, "why you are troubled."

Her gentle yet direct question clenched Elrond's heart, and he looked away, leaning back against the edge of the window. "I fear for my brother, my lady."

"Why?"

Elrond drew in a breath. "You know of the choice that has been given to us."

Galadriel met his eyes, her face neither smiling nor frowning, though her eyes were gentle and encouraging. "Yes."

"I knew what I was to chose the moment that it was given to us. But he did not. His heart is still uncertain. And I do not wish for him to grow distracted, and to choose- poorly."

Now Galadriel did smile, a faint, compassionate smile. "You were always his protector, Elrond. Even when you were a little child, you would have willingly died to protect Elros, had the sons of Fëanor not stayed their wrath and taken pity on you."

Elrond looked away and nodded.

"But my young friend," she said, "as much as you wish to, you cannot protect him now. Not from the choice he is to make. That is his alone. You cannot make it for him."

"But I do not want him to- grow distracted and to make a wrong-" Elrond sighed.

"Have you ever known your brother to act rashly?"

Elrond shook his head, unable, for the moment, to speak.

Galadriel leaned toward him a fraction, her eyes fixing upon his. "Elrond, Elros must make his own path. Do not fear that he will choose a course contrary to the will of the Valar simply because a fair mortal maiden has crossed your paths." Elrond pursed his lips, feelilng his face growing flushed, for her shaft had struck home.

"His best choice," Galadriel continued, "whatever it is, for_ I _cannot say, was ordained by the will of the _All Father_, and cannot be altered. You, my dear young friend, can no more change it than you can change the course of the stars in the heavens. All that is to be done, is for Elros to come to an understanding for himself, of what his own best course must be, and for both of you, for all who care about you, to accept it."

Elrond swallowed stiffly, and looked away out the window.

His brother and the maiden Andreth had arrived in the yard, and were dismounting their horses. Their eyes did not meet one another's, but this did not comfort Elrond.

"My dear Elrond," Galadriel murmured, and he looked again at the fair elven lady. She smiled again as their eyes met. "You are young and learning still, like a pearl still forming. But your heart is good, and I am glad to know you." She rose to her feet, and Elrond rose as well in deference.

A sigh escaped her, and for a fleeting moment she looked sad. "I have not yet been blessed with children, but were I ever to bear a son, I would be honored if he was half as good, and kind as you, my young friend."

Elrond nodded his head toward her, partly in thanks, partly to hide the gleaming wetness that formed in his eyes.

"Thank you, my lady," he said, and Galadriel returned his words with a nod of her head before she turned and glided away, turning down the hallway toward her own chambers, and leaving Elrond alone to ponder over her words.

"I may not be able to change his ordained course," he said beneath his breath once the lady had disappeared, "but I may perhaps help him remember what it truely _is_."

And with a fist of resolve tightening around his heart, he turned and strode toward the stairs that would lead him down to the main hall, and to his brother. And to Andreth, the gentle and kind, yet mortal, maiden.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Andreth stood at the vine entwined railing that encircled the west facing veranda of Círdan's house, her head bent toward the open book she held in her hand, dutifully striving to remember the various medicinal plants and their uses that Elrond had taught her of, earlier in the day. The sun was sinking low in the sky, and her mind fairly reeled from all she had done since its rising. Below the bluff that dropped away from the veranda where she stood, flecks of fire seemed to dance of the waves of the great bay. Now and again, Andreth found her eyes wandering upward, wishing to drink in the view without a care to her studies, though she caught herself time and again, lowering her face to the book Elrond had bidden her to read.

A folded piece of parchment lay against the opposite page, a letter she had penned for Firiel, and would send off in the morning.

Her hair hung in the same plaited rope, she had worn in the morning, with the single white blossom tucked in above her ear. With her face bent over the book, the rope of her hair trailed forward over her shoulder, hanging nearly to her waist. Her garb, though, she had changed.

She was no longer clad in the boyish breeches and tunic she had worn that morning for her riding lessons, and was instead dressed in a light gown now, sky blue with trailing sleeves, a belt of silver rope loose about her hips.

"Maidenhair," she murmured to herself, touching a fingertip to the small etching of a full leafed fern. "When made into a tea, it improves poor circulation.

"Lady's Mantle," she continued, her finger moving to another etching, of a circular leaf with striated edges, and undulating folds. "used as a poultice to stop bleeding. When taken as a tea, it helps and eases a woman's labor pains."

"Lavender." Her finger stopped on an etching of a slender stem with small flowers blooming along its length. "Its oil is used to heal wounds."

"Peppermint," a masculine voice spoke behind her, and she turned to see Lord Elrond coming toward her, two steaming mugs in his hands. A faint smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes were kind. "When made into a tea, it relieves head ache and pain caused by overzealous tutors."

"Oh, Lord Elrond," Andreth chuckled, gratefully taking the mug he offered her, and shutting the book in her hand. She smiled up into the young elven lord's eyes, glad to see him smile in return. "It is not so bad. But thank you."

Her concern that Elros' elder brother was growing to dislike her had been dispelled during his lesson, for he had been as kind and patient as his brother. He had taken her beyond the stables to a garden on the north side of Cirdan's house. A cool, sweet haven of swelling fruits and vegetables, bright flowers and calming fragrance where Elrond introduced her to numerous medicinal herbs, explaining their names and healing properties. He had been exacting in requiring her to learn the names of several important herbs, their appearances and the ailments they treated, yet he had been patient as well, helping her to remember something if she forgot it, and praising her with each success until she could recall to him each herb he had assigned, and its qualities to him, by heart.

Elrond was a kindly elf, lordly and handsome as Elros was, almost the exact image of his brother. But Andreth felt differently in his presence that she did in Elros'. She dropped her eyes at this thought, lifted the cup and took a sip, letting the warmth and the sweet taste fill her soothing her as it did. Both elven lords, she knew were honorable and good, both she knew she could trust with her life. But Elrond seemed- almost fatherly to Andreth. Or perhaps brotherly, since he looked no older than she. But she did not feel so when she thought of Elros, and as his name whispered in her thoughts, the image of him upon his stallion's back galloping over the wide meadow with the wind in his hair, Andreth's heartbeat quickened.

"How have your other studies gone?" Elrond asked, taking a sip from his own mug, and gesturing toward a nearby bench. The same one, Andreth remembered, that she had been sitting in when Hathel had approached her the night before, and given her the small gleaming flower she knew now to be called Tindómiel.

"Very well," she said, nodding her gratitude as she took the bench and sat. Elrond sat beside her, his eyes, companionable and kind, fixed upon her face. "Mistress Aelin is teaching me to play the flute."

"And you are enjoying it?"

Andreth smiled up into Elrond's eyes. "Very much. She is a good teacher. I hope to learn to play the harp as well, one day, but Aelin says she is not as skilful with the harp."

"No doubt you will meet someone soon who will be able to teach you," Elrond said assuringly. "What of your other lessons?"

Andreth grinned. "Both Aelin and a few others of the women servants are teaching me some dances. I felt as clumsy as a cow at first," Elrond grinned at this, "but they were patient with me, and I think I'm learning. And Lady Galadriel herself, is teaching me to weave a tapestry. There is so much to do, so many threads to look after!"

Elrond smiled at her exclamation and drew a sip of his own tea.

"But I think I am learning," Andreth continued. "And with her teaching, I think my finished tapestry will not be too terrible."

"No doubt it will be very fine," he said, his voice warm and assuring. Elrond took another sip. "What will it be?"

"Well," Andreth looked down, hesitant, into her cup. The liquid was dark green. Steam rose invitingly from its surface, and she lifted the mug, taking a long, languid sip. The heat of the sweet tea had cooled somewhat. "I mean to put a star up in the center of a night sky, and below it, I mean to weave the images of-," Andreth felt her face coloring. "You and Lord Elros."

"Indeed?" Elrond breathed, a grin exposing his white, even teeth. "I am flattered. As Elros shall be, I don't doubt, when I tell him." His lips twitched faintly for a moment, and a troubled look seemed to touch his eyes.

"It is truly the least I could do, my lord," she whispered. "You saved me. You and Lord Elros."

Andreth drew in a breath at the memory of only days before, when the stranger had waylaid her in the forest. The cruel eyes of her attacker rose up again in her mind, the bitter taste and feel of his greedy mouth and pawing hands, and the stink and weight of his unwashed body. She remembered also, the flash of Elros' sword, and the burst of bright red blood as it sank into her attacker's neck, the man buckling to the grass of the sylvan clearing, his head half severed.

"If you had not come when you had-,"

A hand lifted and touched her shoulder, squeezing gently, and Andreth felt the frightening memory slip away again at the elf's touch.

"I promise you, maiden, you will never need to fear such men again," he murmured. "Not so long as Elros and I are nearby."

Andreth looked up, meeting Elrond's eyes, and managed a smile. "You are very kind, my lord Elrond," she said, and his eyes softened. "I have not known you long. Less than a week in truth, but I feel I could easily come to see you as a brother."

"And Elros as well?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

Andreth paused, and dropped her eyes to the mug in her hand. The tea was beginning to grow cold.

"My lady?" he asked gently, leaning nearer.

"My lord, Elros?"

The masculine voice, rough, in comparison to Elrond's smoother tones, caused Andreth to jerk, her eyes flying up to see Hathel the stonemason rising up the veranda steps. A smile curved up the corners of his mouth, but Andreth could see a quiet challenge behind his eyes which fixed upon Elrond.

He was not as finely clad as he had been the night before, but still, she could tell he had not come straight from cutting stone, but had made himself presentable before coming here. He wore finely taylored breeches and a tunic and jerkin, and his hair fell about his shoulders like a smooth tawny mane.

He _was _handsome, Andreth admitted to herself, lowering her eyes.

Over one shoulder, he carried a quiver of arrows, and a long satchel with the ends of two unstrung bows poking out of the top of it.

Behind him, coming around the side of the house, were three of the elves she had met the night before at supper, Gil Galad, the Noldorin king, and Oropher with his son, Thranduil. These three elven men clearly had come straight from laying stone, however, for they wore loose, dust covered tunics. Their breeches too, were dusty, and a streak of dust brushed young Lord Thranduil's cheek.

Gil Galad's silver circlet was gone, and the long hair of all three elven men were tied back behind their heads in long tails.

"No, Master Hathel, I am Elrond, his brother," Elrond said rising to his feet to address Hathel's question, though Andreth remained seated.

"Ah," Hathel said, his tense expression visibly loosening. "My apologies, my lord,"

"Not at all," Elrond assured him, stepping forward and offering the mortal man his hand in greeting, Hathel stepped forward willingly, and the two men clasped forearms. "It is easy to mistake one of us for the other." As the three dusty elves approached, Elrond grinned and lifted his voice. "Even his highness, King Gil Galad often mistakes me for my brother, or him for me."

To this, the dark haired elf laughed, and nodded as he and his companions leaped up the steps. "Indeed," he said, striding near and clapping Hathel companionably upon the back. "And I have known the twin sons of Eärendil for well over sixty years."

To this, Elrond looked over his shoulder, offering Andreth a conspiratorial grin.

"My lady," Gil Galad said now, turning toward Andreth and offering a bow to her. "I and my friends apologize for our unkempt state, but we wished to come see you before the day grew too late."

"You need not apologize," Andreth said, her voice softer now than when she and Elrond had been speaking.

"We have been pondering on what we can do, while you are a ward of our friend, Círdan," Oropher offered now. "You seem a fine maiden, and the house of Bëor was always kind to our people. We feel it a worthy cause to help you with your learning."

"So we have agreed to employ Master Hathel to be your weapons tutor," Thranduil interrupted where he stood a half step behind his father.

Elrond's smile contrasted the sense of disappointment that gripped her heart at these words.

"But Elros was going to tutor me," Andreth said, struggling to keep her voice even.

"Now, Elros will not need to take so much time away from aiding Lord Círdan and the other builders," Elrond said, turning to her. "The orginial purpose for which he and I came to Mithlond."

Andreth shot a glance toward Hathel, who looked at her now with a hopeful, boyish smile, and she struggled to mask her disappointment for his sake.

"My skill is not reserved only to cutting stone, my lady," he offered. "I had hoped today, if you would permit me, to teach you something of archery."

Andreth shot a glance once more at Elrond, who, though only moments before, had been so kind to her, held now in his eyes an insistence that made her nearly cringe.

"I will excuse you to Elros, when he arrives," Elrond said, nodding jovially toward Hathel.

With a ragged sigh, her heart feeling as if it had suddenly turned into a great weight, Andreth set her book on the bench beside her, and rose, nodded to Hathel, and followed after him as he grinned broadly, and started for the steps off the veranda.

...oOo...

The sun was just touching the horizon, shooting bright arrows of red and gold from one horizon to the other. But Elros cared nothing for the beauty of the sunset. His heart felt as if it had grown into a great weight as he sat upon the sloping roof of the stables, his legs pulled up to his chest as he remembered his disappointment earlier that evening when he had strode out onto the veranda washed in red light, casting his eyes left and right, a bow and quiver of arrows clutched in his hands, hoping to see Andreth, only to find his brother seated upon a bench near the wall as if waiting for him.

"_Andreth has gone with Hathel. It has been decided that he will be her weapons tutor_," Elrond had said, rising to his feet, his cheerful tone adding salt to the wound his words caused.

"_But Hathel knows nothing of fighting, or of war_," Elros had protested. "_He's never been in battle_."

"_He need not have been_," Elrond had chuckled, reaching a hand out as if wishing to sooth his brother's frustration. "_It is not as if Andreth is being trained as a _warrior_. She need only know the simplest of skills. Hathel knows how to hunt, and some skills with blades. That is enough skill to tutor a mortal maiden_."

"_But Lord Círdan appointed me as her weapons tutor_!" Elros had protested, drawing back from Elrond's extended hand.

To this, Elrond's humor had seemed to leave him, and his eyes grew stern. "_Only because you volunteered so eagerly to teach her both horsemanship and the use of weapons. You needn't do both, little brother_."

The tone of Elrond's pet name for him, often spoken in fun and jest before, struck Elros almost like a physical blow, and he had fallen a step back, hurt and anger clenching into a fist in his heart. With that, Elros had turned and stalked away, fearing any further words that might come out of his own mouth and knowing he would regret them later.

And now, he sat upon the roof of the stable, gazing out over the grassy plain toward the mortal man and maiden, standing close together, the string of the bow in the maiden's hand drawn to her cheek, the shaft of the arrow nocked upon it, trained upon a stuffed straw target some distance away.

Several shafts already peppered the target, all of them well out of the faded red circle in the target's center.

Elros narrowed his eyes, and crushed his teeth together as the mortal man leaned nearer to the maid, his hand rising to touch against the small of her back as he whispered something in her ear, encouragement or instruction perhaps, or, perhaps, a compliment of her obvious beauty, which Hathel could not but notice, unless he were entirely witless and blind.

For Andreth, her hair still drawn back in a braid, looked captivating, bathed in the light of the lowering sun, the gown she had changed into after their ride that morning, complementing the curves of her body in a way that Elros found impossible to ignore. And within her hair, the single bloom of _Tindómiel _remained that she had worn since that morning.

Oh Valar, was it one of the cluster he had left outside her door, or was it the single flower Hathel had given her last night? It was maddening, not to know! He wished he had asked her that morning when he had seen it in her hair. But would it have been prudent? And what would her answer have been if he had asked? She had not known that it had been he who had left them.

In the distance, Andreth's fingers released the string, and a moment later, her arrow struck just inside the faded red circle, quivering.

A reluctant smile, for her sake, touched Elros' lips, though it faded again at the thought that it should have been he who had taught her that skill. His fallen expression fell further still, and his fists tightened in impotent fury as Hathel's hand trailed up Andreth's spine to her shoulder.

He felt only a little comfort as the maiden looked up at Hathel, then stepped away from him, turning back to look toward Círdan's house as if she sensed watchful eyes upon her and her mortal tutor.

Her face, Elros noted, was wistful. Her mortal eyes could not see him from this distance, but even so, they seemed to find him, and fix upon him.

"Elros. Elros!" a voice, his brother's called from the other side of the stables.

With a sigh, Elros rose to his feet, climbed up and over the ridge pole of the stables, and down to the lip of the roof.

"Here I am," he called to his brother, who stood in the yard before the stables, looking around, perplexed.

Elrond's eyes lifted to the stable roof. His worried expression changed into a dubious grin. "What are you doing up there, little brother?"

His tone had returned to the casual banter Elros was more used to, and Elros found himself grinning back as he stooped, took hold of the edge of the roof, and nimbly swung to the ground.

For a moment he debated whether he should answer truthfully before he said, "Watching Lord Hathel's lesson with the lady Andreth."

Elrond's smile faltered. "And how was it?"

"She is a fast learner, no matter who her teacher is, or how unskilled," Elros answered.

"And Hathel is behaving himself? He is doing nothing untoward?"

Elros released a breath. "Nothing," he returned.

"Good. Then you and I have nothing to worry about. Come," Elrond clapped a hand upon Elros' shoulder. "The servants have supper prepared, and Lord Círdan is awaiting us."

"What of Andreth?"

"I have already told the servants not to expect her until later. They will keep supper for her, and Master Hathel. He will not be forgotten, either."

"Then they will sup together?"

Elrond shrugged and nodded. "Probably. But don't worry about them. The servants will see to their needs. Come."

His heart felt heavy, but Elros only straightened his shoulders and tightened his jaw as he did as his brother bid him, and followed him toward the house.

...oOo...

Andreth sat at her dressing table, clad in the soft white night gown she had slept in the night before. The fabric was soft and thin, and smelled of lilacs. She held a brush in her hand, and had been drawing it through the long locks of her hair. The face that studied her in the mirror, lit by the light of a single candle, did not smile.

Oh, how she wished Elros had gone with her out to the meadow to teach her the art of using a bow. Hathel was enough of a gentle man that she did not despise him, not exactly, but the simple truth remained that he was not Elros. There was something in Elros' presence that drew her to the elf lord. Something that Hathel simply did not have. And as she had listened to Hathel's instructions, she had wished to hear Elros' voice. Her arrows, thanks to the mortal man's instructions all hit the target, but none within the center until the very last.

She had found herself fantasizing that Hathel's hand upon the small of her back had been Elros' hand, that it had been Elros who had trailed his hand up her spine to rest upon her shoulder when her last arrow had finally struck the target. But it had not been Elros' face she had seen when she had turned to look up at him.

She sighed, and propped her chin in her hand to study the eyes of her reflection. She pitied Hathel now. His admiration of her was obvious, for as they had dined together, alone on the veranda as the sun fell beneath the western horizon, he had hardly taken his eyes from her face, talking all the while of small, trivial things, asking her of her home with Firiel, clearly brightening whenever her eyes met his, or when she had answered his queries with more than a few short words. He was a fine man. Of that she was certain. But she knew now, sitting before her dressing table, drawing the brush once again through the long tresses of her hair, that she could never learn to love him as he seemed to hope she would.

Pausing in her brushing, Andreth studied her face again, framed with the unbound tresses of her hair.

_"You, my lady, are like this pearl." _Elros' voice echoed in her thoughts. _"You may think yourself flawed, and insignificant now, yet you are even now, as wise and good as you are lovely, my lady. And you have a great destiny before you."_

Even now, Elros' words from that morning warmed her. He saw not only her beauty, but her mind and heart as well. He saw goodness in her, and believed her to be destined for some great future.

Andreth's own future was dark to her. Elros said he could sense her destiny, and had said that Lord Círdan could sense it as well. She, however could not, yet. But of one thing she was certain; Hathel was not meant to be a part of it, however much he now seemed to wish he could be.

Releasing a deep sigh, Andreth set the brush down, returned the flower in her hair to the cup where her other _Tindómiel _flowers glowed faintly in the night shadows, and rose to her feet.

Her deep soft bed beckoned to her, and she moved to it, drawing back the sheets, and settling in the pillowy softness with a sigh. Her eyes lifted to the canopy above her head, and she studied the soft gossamer fluttering faintly in some gentle current of air in the room as she willed her eyelids to grow heaving, wishing for welcome sleep to come.

...oOo...

Elros stood alone on the empty veranda, where, not long before, Andreth had dined in relative seclusion with Hathel with Elros a silent witness to their meal from the balcony of his room. His throat felt tight; he knew he had not reason to be distressed, but felt torn all the same. About him, the flowers upon the vines of _Tindómiel _lit the air with a faint light, illuminating the veranda upon which he now stood.

During hiw own dinner with his brother, Lord Círdan and Galadriel and Celeborn, he had hinted, gently of course, to Lord Círdan that he should be reinstated as Andreth's tutor with weapons. But the ancient shipwright had not sided with him, as he had hoped he would, but had instead calmly stated that whomever she chose as her tutors was within her own power, and her choice ought not to be forced upon her, by anyone. Especially him, Círdan had said. If she wished for another beside Master Hathel to tutor her, she could make her will known.

The small table that had been set out by Círdan's servants for the two young mortals to sup, still sat there; doubtless they would clear it away in the morning, and the chair where Hathel had sat across from Andreth, sat half turned away from the table as it had been turned when he had risen to help her from her chair.

Elros studied the chair, finely carved and polished, and he imagined himself seizing hold of it, and reducing the cursed thing to gristmill sized particles. But he shook his head, tearing himself away from the foolish thought, and instead, moved to the chair and dropped upon it, glancing across the table to the empty space that Andreth had once occupied.

Letting his eyes rove over the veranda from this perspective, he noticed something set upon a bench near the wall, mostly in shadow, and difficult, even with his eyes, to see.

It was a book.

Elros rose, for the poor thing seemed forlorn and out of place, forgotten, unintentionally. He moved toward it and stopped. It was a thick tome, its title adverting that it taught of medicinal plants and their uses.

A folded sheet of parchment stuck out from between the pages, and Elros picked up the thick book, letting its pages fall open to the folded piece of parchment. Curious, he took out the paper, and unfolded it, his heart softening at the words written upon it.

_Dearest Firiel, _

_I hope this letter finds you well. Give my greetings to sweet Lavaniel, and any of our near neighbors who ask about me. I am busy, dear friend. So very busy. Far more busy than either of us guessed I would be, for I am not cloistered away in some dusty library with books about me as we, or at least as I imagined, but rather I am doing and learning much. Lord Elros is teaching me the art of horsemanship. Sweet Maidh, the mare whom we befriended, is my mount. This, Firiel will surprise you, but Lord Círdan himself approves of it. Lord Elros also means to begin teaching me the use of varied weapons later this evening. In truth, I look forward to this, for I know he is very skilled. I am also learning many other arts. Lord Elrond, his brother, is teaching me of medicinal herbs, and I am also learning music, dance, and the weaving of tapestries. It is all so much, and perhaps I would not believe I could learn it all, but for something Lord Elros said to me this morning, wise words that even now resound in my heart. He said, dearest Firiel, that I am like a pearl. That I am learning and growing, and that I have some destiny, yet unseen, but great. I want so very much to believe him. And when I look into his eyes, grey as the sea, and as kind as a spring morning, I do believe him._

_Think of me, and pray for me. Lord Elros says the Valar are aware of me, but even so, it would not hurt to remind them of me._

_All my love, your friend,_

_Andreth_

"Andreth," Elros murmured, reverently folding the paper. The uncertainty in his heart eased into a quiet peace as he closed the book upon the folded paper. Her name upon his tongue tasted sweet, even now, several seconds after he spoke it. He had no reason to be troubled, or angry. Andreth was happy here. That was what mattered. And if Hathel was a good teacher, then so much the better for her.

He drew and released a deep breath, turned toward the door, drew it open, and went inside, suddenly sleepy; ready for his own bed, and welcome rest.

...oOo...

Andreth stood on the crest of a knoll, looking out onto the realistic sea that glimmered and sparkled with astonishing detail, though she knew it was only a dream. Looking down upon herself, she noted the gown she had worn earlier, fitted to the soft curves of her youthful form, the flowing sleeves, and the silver belt loose about her hips. the throat of her gown, clinging to her delicate shoulders, scooped low, revealing a silver necklace with a small pearl hanging from it. And from the feel against her brow, she knew she wore a diadem to match the jewel upon her breast. The diadem was the only adornment she wore in her hair, and the tresses of her hair hung free, catching faintly in the gentle wind.

"You are here, again."

The voice behind her caused her to turn suddenly, her heart leaping at the figure who came toward her over the grass. The dream form of Elros, as real as he had been the night before, clad in tunic, jerkin and breeches of deep blue, and boots as well.

He was as she had seen him in the waking hours, but for a crown upon his own brow, as if he were a king as great, or perhaps greater, than King Gil Galad.

"You are here as well," she said. For though she knew he was only part of her dream, still she wished to speak to him as if he were, in truth, Elros himself. "And you speak."

"As I should," the vision of Elros said with a smile as he drew to a stop before her. "For this is my dream, after all."

Andreth swallowed. A strange thing for a dream vision to say. This was_ her_ dream.

"But it is a strange dream. So real. And these shores face eastward. I have never seen eastward facing shores."

"It is not the Blessed Realm?" Andreth asked.

The vision of Elros furrowed his brow, and shook his head. "I do not think so. The Blessed Realm does not look as this land does, so I have heard." He looked away from the shore, and Andreth turned to follow his gaze.

For this first time, she saw further inland, a rising mountain, far in the distance, crested with snow, and gleaming beneath the moonlight.

"This is only a dream land. But it a very beautiful place," the vision continued in Elros' warm voice.

Andreth turned back to him.

"And you, fair vision, are more beautiful than the land in which I find you," the dream of Elros continued, drawing a step nearer. "More beautiful than any dream I have dreampt thus far in my life."

"Am I?" she whispered.

Though it was but a dream, and Elros himself was not speaking to her, still the words warmed her blood.

"Tell me more, my lord," she pleaded.

The vision of Elros smiled. "You are not only beautiful," he said, "but the woman whose form you take, is good as well, and intelligent. And kind and gentle, and true."

The vision of Elros drew a step nearer to her. Near enough now, that he could reach out and touch her if he wished, though his hands remained at his sides. "I would not dare to say this to Andreth herself," he said, his words now almost a whisper. "But while I have met many women in my years, many fair and beautiful women of both races, I have never felt before as I do now. I have never felt-," the vision of Elros blushed beneath the moonlight, and his voice became a soft growl, "_desire_ as I do now."

Andreth felt her own cheeks flushing hotly, and she ducked her eyes, for the eyes of this beautiful vision of Elros were so very real-

"You barely know me," she whispered, wishing painfully that it was truly Elros who spoke, and not a vision created by her own dreams.

"I know," he pleaded. "And I wish to grow to know you better. I would not speak this way to Andreth in the waking world. Not since we have known each other so short a time. Perhaps my path is to be as my brother's, and I should not entertain such feelings for a mortal woman. Perhaps this feeling will pass."

She looked up into the eyes of the vision she wished so much to be Elros.

"But truthfully, I do not wish it to. Perhaps- perhaps, though it will be painful for us both, my path is meant to lead a different way than my brother's."

Andreth blinked and stepped back. Now she knew, as much as she wished to believe otherwise, that this was truly a dream. What he had said, made no sense.

"Please," the vision of Elros pleaded, taking a step after her. "Please do not go away."

"I won't," Andreth said, letting the warm, strong fingers of Elros' beautiful vision find her own, and twine through them. "I wish only to stay here. With you."

"And I, with you," he breathed, his voice grown husky. His fingers tightened. "You seem so _real_," he murmured, and he lifted a hand, raising it until his fingers hovered just above her cheek as if at any moment his fingertips would caress her face. "I long, so very much, to kiss you."

She felt her face grow warm, and Andreth dropped her eyes.

"But I will not," Elros continued. His hand dropped, and she felt him loosen his fingers, and draw back a space. "For were I ever to kiss Andreth, I would wish it to be in the waking world, on her own soft lips, and not in a dream."

Andreth kept her eyes down, aware of the wild throbbing of her own heart, and of the warmth of lean, warm fingers woven through her own.

"But, my lady," the vision's warm voice sounded faintly uncertain, and Andreth looked up.

"If you will permit me one indulgence-,"

The vision of Elros hesitated, then lifting one of her hands, turning her hand so that her palm was open, her fingers uncurled, he drew it to his lips, and pressed his mouth gently against her open palm.

Andreth felt a shudder of warmth tremble through her, a surge of longing that left her weak, her limbs shivering before he drew back, and looked up at her, almost apologetic.

"I will not do that again, not tonight at least," the vision of Elros vowed drawing a step back, and drawing in a deep breath. "For I enjoyed it-," he paused, and warmth darkened his cheeks, "far too much."

"As did I," she admitted.

"But if you will permit me to hold your hand," he continued, "will you do me the pleasure of walking with me along these fair shores?"

Andreth drew in a sigh, marveling at the sweet taste of the ocean breeze in her lungs. "I would like that, very much, my lord."

"Then come," he urged, turning to move down off the bluff to the sandy shore. "Let us see what marvels this dream land holds."

And with a smile upon her lips, Andreth willingly followed the fair dream of Elros off the grassy bluff, and down the sandy slope toward the white sand and the water that danced and sparkled beneath the light of the moon.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Elrond's steps were slow and steady as he walked along the edge of the garden of Círdan's house, appreciating the relaxing scent of the flowers and herbs. Beyond the side of the house where he walked, the red sun had fallen below the horizon, and where he was, the cool shadows were growing deeper. Near his path, not far from the yellowing pumpkin that swelled within the tangle of its leaves and vines, he noted a strawberry plant, a fat, ripe berry peeking red through the green of the leaves. One of the last of the season, for the days were getting cooler. He smiled, stooped, and plucked it. He bit into the soft juicy fruit, appreciating the sweetness as he swallowed. It would probably be several months before he tasted a strawberry again.

A gentle wind sprung up then, brushing through his hair, and with it, as if upon the wind itself, came the soft, melancholy notes of a flute.

Elrond stopped, and stood in stillness, appreciating the wordless song, wishing he could recognize it. But it was a tune he had never heard before. It was peaceful, but somewhat sad. And instinctively, he wished to find the maker of it, and give her comfort. For somehow, he knew the song's creator was a woman.

Moving along the side of the house, he rounded the corner to the side that faced the sea, and stopped, still as a tree. The sun was gone, but the clouds above were blazing with flames of red and orange. And seated alone upon the veranda, on the seat where she often sat to study or to think, was the fair mortal, Andreth.

She held a flute to her lips, her fingers moving delicately over the holes as her song came forth. Her hair, which seemed to glow, as his brother often said, like gold and copper beneath the light of the setting sun, hung loose about her shoulders, locks catching in the faint wind. The folds of her light, cream colored dress fluttered in the gentle wind in such a way that Elrond understood, reluctantly, why Elros would find the girl so distracting. And also, why Hathel, the stonecutter, was so smitten. Elrond heaved a frustrated sigh. If only she would let herself fall in love with the poor pining mortal, then Elros' difficulties would come to an end. He would see his destined path clearly, and at last decide upon the immortal life that Elrond knew was his brother's destiny, even if Elros did not see it yet himself. If the mortal maiden would only stop being so fickle-

Elrond dropped his eyes, sensing that his thoughts were taking a negative turn. Why did he so often think unkindly of such a gentle maiden? It was not as if she were trying to _seduce_ Elros. She was so good and virtuous. Elrond saw it- but it was that very goodness that Elros saw as well, and which Elrond wished he would not. At least not in the way he seemed to, when his eyes would fall upon her whenever she was near him, and soften as they did, whether her own eyes met his or not. Elros had said nothing to Elrond of any growing feelings for the mortal maiden, but the way he looked at her was certainly not the look of a mere friend. Elrond was certain of that. That would change though, certainly, when she finally gave her heart to Hathel, and a betrothal was announced. Elros would come to his senses then.

Elros did not shirk his duty to Círdan and the building of Mithlond, and he did not seem morose, nor did he complain that Hathel had taken a duty which he had wanted, but Elrond could see sense the wistfulness in his gaze now and then while he and the mortal maiden were riding together on the plain between the house and the distant trees or when she sat at dinner, or at the window gazing out, in the library with her head bent over a book. Or when she danced upon the veranda with the ladies who taught her their graceful steps. Even amongst fair elven ladies, Elros' eyes would follow only her. When Elros spoke to her, Elrond had never seen or heard of anything that would suggest that more than a contented friendship existed between the elven lord and the mortal maid. Except for what he saw in his brother's eyes when he looked at Andreth. There, there was something more. Something hidden, and unspoke, but still present.

Elros, Elrond was certain, did not see the maiden in the sisterly way that he did. Elrond was certain of that. That would change though, certainly, when she finally gave her heart to Hathel. Her betrothal would hurt his brother, to be sure. But he was strong, and would recover. And centuries from now, wed safely to a fair, elven bride, he would look back upon his fleeting infatuation with the mortal maiden, and chuckle at the memory.

Drawing in a breath, Elrond closed his eyes, and let the gentle music of Andreth's flute flow over him. She _was_ a kindly maiden. In all truth, he considered her a friend now, and it was not fair of him to be impatient with her, or blame her for his brother's troubles. Aside from being beautiful, which she could not help, she had done nothing to encourage Elros. She strived hard to learn all that was given her, especially the lessons Elrond taught her himself, and her efforts were paying off. She was quicker now in her lessons with him, and knew volumes more about healing herbs and their properties than he had guessed she would at the beginning of her stay. She even knew how to use what he was teaching her. For she had assisted him once, in setting an old mortal man's broken leg when the old man had fallen from the scaffolding at the rising light house.

The moment she had arrived with a satchel of herbs and bandages, only minutes after he had called for her, Andreth had known what to do. What herbs to give the poor injured mortal for his pain, and how best to comfort him. She had held the old man's hand, speaking to him gently and soothingly as Elrond had set and bound the leg, and she had stayed at the man's side as he was carried carefully back to his own house.

Even now, every day, she went to see the man to check on how he was healing and would report back to Elrond on his progress. In truth, she did so much for the man, that there was little Elrond had to do, himself.

Perhaps she was a born healer. One, who could clearly use music to heal a troubled heart as well as any herb. She could sing as well, like a bird, Elros had told him, though Elrond had never heard her voice.

Where she sat now beneath the sunset on the veranda, Andreth's eyes were fixed ahead of her, looking out over the water, and she did not seen Elrond yet where he stood still and motionless as a tree just at the corner of the house and below the level of the veranda. If her voice was half as fair as the music coming from her flute, he could well believe she sang as well as Elros claimed. He stayed where he was, appreciating the wordless song, until, of a sudden the door to the inner house opened.

Andreth's music stopped abruptly.

Elrond felt himself stiffen, imagining his brother coming out, and readied himself to stride up onto the veranda, and join the two. But though the elf was indeed dark of hair, it wasn't Elros. And he wasn't alone. Elrond heaved a breath, and stayed where he was.

Andreth rose hastily to her feet at the appearance of King Gil Galad, and his lighter-haired companions, the Lord Celeborn, and Lady Galadriel. But the dark haired elf smiled, and held out a hand, bidding the maiden to sit.

"Forgive us interrupting you," the high king said. "Please sit. And continue your song."

"We heard it from within," Galadriel added kindly, "and wished to hear it better."

Swallowing, Andreth did as Gil Galad bid her, and resumed her seat. But not yet her song.

Celeborn and Galadriel moved to the far corner of the veranda, out of Elrond's line of sight, but Gil Galad remained standing near the mortal maiden.

"You- liked my music, your highness?" she asked.

Gil Galad nodded. "You have become very skilled with your instrument. You have dwelt here, how long, young one?"

"Three months."

Gil Galad's smile warmed. "Yes. Three months. One would think you had been playing the flute since your birth."

Andreth smiled at his praise. "Aelin is a good teacher, and very skilled with the flute."

"She is," Gil Galad agreed warmly before his smile faltered. "So was her sister."

Elrond drew in a deep breath into his lungs as Andreth's brow furrowed. She would not know the meaning of Gil Galad's fallen smile, or of the words he had spoken. Few did, aside from his nearest kin, and closest friends. And few would ever know the reason why Gil Galad, though high king of the Noldor, would never wed. At least not on these shores.

"Aelin's sister?" Andreth wondered. "She has never spoken of a sister before."

"She wouldn't," Gil Galad agreed, and moved to the railing nearest to where Elrond stood, and leaned against it. "Unless pressed. And forgive her of it. It is more difficult for her, in some ways, to speak of her sister, than it is to speak of her husband."

"She said he fell during the Battle of Unnumbered Tears."

"Yes, I was only a boy then. I remember her sorrow."

"You knew Aelin then?"

"I know many of the elves who live in Círdan's house, and their stories, both happy and sorrowful." Gil Galad looked at the maiden seated upon the bench. "And yes, I knew Lady Aelin. And her sister."

"What was her name?" Andreth's voice was soft now, almost as soft as the wind that brushed a lock of hair in front of her face. With a finger, she drew it back, and smoothed it behind her rounded ear.

"_Indilwen_," he breathed, and Elrond from where he stood, could see the eyes of the high king grow distant and deepen with memories.

Elrond's own eyes dampened with memories at the name. Indilwen. His faint memories floated to the surface of his mind. Her dark hair, and dark eyes that seemed to spark like stars. She had been kind to him.

When the fighting had started, she had been frightened. Even as young as he had been, he had seen that well enough, but still, she had taken up a sword, and a shield like a man. The last thing he remembered of her, was that she had handed him a small knife, and told him and Elros to look after each other. Then she had gone away.

Elrond had always wondered in the back of his mind, which of his foster fathers, who had been so kind to him and his brother, even as they gently picked up the little boys with arms covered in blood, had killed her. Maglor or Maedhros? Perhaps it was best he not know.

"You loved her," the mortal maiden whispered, and Elrond came back to the present, hearing the compassion thick within Andreth's gentle voice.

"I did," Gil Galad murmured, turning to look at the maiden. "In truth, I still do. Your music reminded me of her."

Andreth drew in a breath. Her eyes studied the face of the high king. Her expression was smooth, though her eyes had grown moist with sympathy. "She died," she surmised in a soft voice.

Gil Galad nodded without speaking at first, before he opened his mouth. "She was slain at the Mouths of Sirion during the Third Kinslaying."

Silence fell.

Another, whose love had been slain in such a manner, might curse Maedhros and Maglor to the furthest reaches of the abyss, or rail upon their corrupted quest for the Silmarilli, their foolish insistence on following a twisted oath which had surely damned them far more than breaking it would have. But Gil Galad said nothing more. For such, Elrond thought gratefully, was not the high king's way. Gil Galad's soul walked different paths.

At long last, Andreth's voice broke the silence. "I am sorry for you."

Gil Galad nodded. "I wish I had told her how I felt. I never did." He drew in a breath. "I will, one day. When I meet her again in the halls of Mandos. For I know in my blood, that I will not return to the Blessed Realm on the deck of a ship. I wish I had told her I loved her while we both dwelt on these shores."

Andreth drew in another breath. "Your highness, this is clearly a thing of great personal sorrow for you. Why have you told _me_ these things?" she asked softly.

Elrond pursed his lips thoughtfully, wishing also to hear the answer. Why had he? Gil Galad shared this story with few but those he trusted most. And this tale, Elrond was certain, had never fallen on mortal ears before this day.

"I do not know," Gil Galad said frankly. "Only that I feel it is right in telling you. I trust you, Lady Andreth, mortal that you are. You are kindly, and intelligent, and- you are _elf-friend_."

Andreth dropped her eyes, a look of wonder and humility coming over her countenance. "I do not deserve to be called so. I have done nothing great, your highness."

"My lady, you need not have songs sung of you, to be _great_." Gil Galad's words were soft, but strong, and his smile was both fatherly and sad. "You are kind, and gentle, and uassuming. You strive hard, no matter the difficulty, to learn all that is asked of you. And you truly care for your friends. Though you live now as richly as a princess, your thoughts have not left your friends from whence you came. I have often observed you writing letters, I suppose to your friend Firiel, ofwhom you have spoken before," Andreth nodded, "and I see brightness in your face when a letter comes to you. You are not her friend because you gain any riches from your friendship with her. You are her friend simply because you care for her."

Gil Galad drew in a breath. "Do not mistake my words, young one. You _are_ a great lady. And it is more than the house from which you have descended. I felt it at our first meeting. I do not doubt but that Lord Círdan felt it as well, and that is why he has taken you as his ward. There is something- truly royal in you. And you have a great part to play in the building of this world."

"So said Lord Elros, once," she returned, her eyes down, her voice softening before she fell silent. And after a moment, she lifted the instrument to her lips, and began again to play. The same song she had played moments before, soft and sweet, and achingly melancholy as the high king listened and turned away, his eyes seeking the horizon for something even his elven eyes could not see.

A faint movement at the top of his vision caused Elrond to lift his eyes, wondering what it was before his jaw grew taut, and his heart tightened. Elros. He had not seen him before this moment. His brother sat on his own balcony, cross legged and peering through the twining bars of his railing. How long had he been watching Andreth playing her music? Far longer than Elrond had, he guessed.

Elrond frowned, a stiffening determination clenching his heart. He drew a fierce breath into his chest, and in silence, he turned away.

...oOo...

Elros sat upon the balcony of his room, cross legged, and peering through the gilded bars at Andreth where she sat upon the bench upon the veranda, alone now that Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel had departed, and King Gil Galad had bowed his farewell and returned inside Círdan's house.

The last note of a song she had been playing, quavered and echoed away in the air before falling silent. Her flute lowered to her lap, and she gazed out, contemplating the sea that rippled beneath the fading light of the dying sunset.

He had told himself that he had come out onto his balcony to enjoy her music as the others had. But now that the music had faded, and the others were gone, leaving Andreth alone again, he had to admit to himself that he remained to enjoy the fair vision of the music's creator, far more lovely, he thought, than the music she had made.

In the soft, creamy white dress she wore, one he had seen on her often, and which was one of his favorites, the fabric clinging gracefully to the delicate edges of her shoulders, Andreth looked like a young bird. A white sea bird that could, at any moment, rise up, and like, his own mother, sail away into the sunset.

As if to confirm his fear, the maiden rose to her feet, tucked the flute into her belt, and glided forward to the edge of the railing to rest her hands, still gazing into the west almost as wistfully as Gil Galad had.

Elros felt himself start. He did not want her to go. He wanted her to stay as she was, where she was, so that he could continue watching her, adoring her.

What was she thinking of, her eyes so somber and soft as she studied the horizon? Beneath the white fabric of her gown, her young breasts rose and fell with each breath as if some secret thought troubled her mind that could not find release. What was that secret thought? Was she, imagining what lay beyond that horizon, or was she thinking of- someone? _Hathel? _he wondered morosely.

She turned, her attention drawn by someone who had just come onto the veranda. From her face, he could discern traces of wetness on her cheeks. His heart twisted as gentle Lord Cirdan joined her, their voices too soft for him to hear. Despite her smile to the silver-haired shipwright, Elros knew she'd been crying.

Elros drew in a sigh. He would never know why if he remained here, admiring her from afar as if she were a lifeless statue.

He should go down to her, sit beside her upon the veranda and speak to her, as he had not done for some time. Perhaps as they had, when they sat side by side against the wall of Firiel's hut, and spoke of things that mattered to them. Or better yet, he could ask her to walk with him down to the shore.

Determination gripped his heart, and Elros clenched his jaw as he rose to his feet, turned and strode through his room toward his door.

...oOo...

Andreth sat alone in the quiet of the evening, studying the play of light fading slowly against the underbellies of the clouds. She held her flute in her hands, the music silent now as she sat in the stillness. She felt as if somewhere, someone's eyes were upon her and that she was not entirely alone. But the eyes, whosever they were, were not unfriendly, and she did not wish to look away from the sunset, or take her thoughts from the words that had passed between herself and the high king of the Noldor.

E_lf friend_, he had called her. It was humbling and thrilling all at once, and she was glad for this time to reflect upon it as she watched Eärendil sailing on a sea of cloud.

What could he see from his high place, so far up in that great expanse? Had he seen what his sons had made of themselves? What they were still making of themselves? Was he proud of them?

_You should be_, she whispered softly to the star as she studied the tiny spot of gleaming light. _For there is much about them for which you should rightly be proud._

Today was her rest day, the one day in seven that she did not need to follow her rigorous trail of lessons, and she was glad for the time to sit and think, or to wander where she would through Círdan's house, or down through Mithlond. She welcomed these days, sometimes spending all day in Círdan's library, or in one of the vast libraries down in the city, sometimes staying all day reading, or simply gazing out a window, pondering, and only stopping when her own needs reminded her she'd been there too long.

Now, with her music silent, and the peace of the evening beginning to settle, one thought fluttered in her mind, and Andreth caught on it, pondering it. To this day, she did not know who had left the flowers outside of her bedroom door the first night of her stay, or the book she had left on the seat on the veranda the next night, the letter she had written to Firiel, still tucked safely within its pages. Who had it been? Something in her heart told her that whoever had left the flowers, had been thoughtful enough to leave the book as well. And that same whisper suggested that her benefactor had been Elros. But would she ever know? Perhaps not, for though she felt that she and the young elven lord had become good friends over the last few months, he seemed content to speak to her but little.

He always spoke to her kindly whenever he did, and always seemed pleased to see her. But even during her riding lessons, his words were usually few, and if he ever touched her, it was only her hand, and briefly. His eyes were always gentle and soft, but so were the eyes of Hathel. But it was only Elros, behind whose silent gaze she wished would be something more.

She looked forward to her times of sleep, for in her dreams, the vision she imagined Elros to be, would hold her hand, and walk with her upon the shore of the strange and beautiful dream land where she always found herself. The vision in her dreams rarely spoke, and never touched more than her hand, though when morning drew near, and she felt herself beginning to waken, he would lift her hand, and press a kiss into her palm. Often she would wake, still feeling the press of his lips against her skin.

Why did she have such dreams? And why were they so very real? Was it a message from the Valar? Or was it merely a result of being here, a guest in Círdan's house, and her encounters with the dream form of Elros just a construct of her own girlish longings?

The dark was coming on, and Eärendil twinkled brightly in the evening sky over a purpling sea. But the beauty of the scene before her blurred and faded as wetness filled her eyes.

_Elros_, she murmured beneath her breath. _What is this- sweetness that I feel for you? That seems to grow on me day by day? Am I a fool to feel as I do? Do I even have the right to long for the affections of one of your fair, flawless race? Of you?_

"Lady Andreth."

She turned, drying her eyes hastily as Cirdan stepped out of the house onto the veranda, and offered her fatherly smile as he drew near.

"Lord Cirdan," she greeted, offering him a curtsy as he joined her at the railing.

He smiled, and offered her a graceful nod of his head.

"It has been a fair day," he said with a sigh. "Made more fair by your beautiful music."

Andreth blushed at this, and lowered her eyes. "Which I have learned only because of your generosity, and the kindness of others."

Cirdan smiled. "Ah, but you have, yourself, learned so quickly and so well. That is not something that I, or anyone, could take to _our_ credit."

She smiled again.

"Do not your tutors say as much?" Cirdan smiled, his eyes glinting with a humorous light. "Among them Master Hathel, and- young Lord Elros?"

Cirdan watched her face carefully as Andreth dropped her eyes, warmth rising to her face as his last words.

"They have both said so," she confessed. "And they are both themselves very skilled. Hathel is wonderfully skillful with a bow, my lord. And Elros-" She paused, recalling the image of Elros, tall and magnificent beneath the sunlight as he rode upon his stallion, his dark hair catching in the wind.

"Hathel is skilled indeed. After all, his father taught him," Cirdan said, heaving a deep sigh.

Andreth bit her lip softly returning her gaze and thoughts to Cirdan. "Is it true then?" she asked quietly. "His father fell in the war?"

Cirdan nodded slowly. "Indeed."

"I asked him this once, but he did not answer me."

The silver-haired elf met her eyes, his expression almost apologetic. "Such does not surprise me. There are few he has entrusted with such sorrowful truth. Young Hathel wished to fight as well, but his father forbade him. He feels he could have saved his father had he been there."

Andreth's lips parted slightly. "How did you learn this?"

"He told me," Cirdan returned simply.

Andreth nodded thoughtfully. "He was willing to fight." She looked into the gentle eyes of the ancient elf. "Why have you told me?"

Cirdan grew thoughtful for a moment, then smiled. "I cannot say for certain," he said after a moment. "Only that I feel it is something you should know. You and- Elros should know."

Her breath caught slightly at the name that sounded so fair to her ears. "Elros-" she breathed.

"Andreth?"

The voice, spoken from the path that led down to the stony path, Andreth choked on a gasp in her throat and looked up, quickly blinking the wetness away, and finding herself gazing into Hathel's eyes. Where had he come from?

The young man clad in tunic and breeches, stood at the base of the steps, one hand upon the railing, and one foot upon the bottommost step. His chest rose and fell, and his face was flushed as if he had been hurrying.

Several steps behind him, near the corner of the veranda, her eye caught sight of Elrond. He stood back, with an expression that reminded her of a father watching his child take his first tottering steps. The two men, she surmised, had been walking together, until Hathel had drawn ahead.

Cirdan smiled and rose gracefully to his feet. "I take my leave of you, my lady," he said. Then he bowed his head to the newcomers. "Master Hathel," he greeted. "My young Elrond."

And with that, the silver-haired shipwright glided with quiet elven grace back inside.

"Master Hathel," she greeted politely, her smiling widening as her eyes fixed upon the dark haired elven lord a few steps behind the mortal. "Lord Elrond," Andreth called, rising to her feet, lifting a hand in greeting. The young elf lord, noting her greeting, drew forward, his steps restrained as if he did not wish to draw too near.

"I have seen Master Gondien today," she said. "He grows better each day."

"I am glad to hear it," he said, then his smile grew teasing as he added, "And you, my friend, grow more fair each day. Does she not, Hathel?"

"Indeed," Hathel agreed, climbing the steps, a boyish grin finding its way to his his lips. "You are well, Andreth?"

Andreth's smile faltered as her eyes darted from Hathel to Elrond and back.

"Well enough, thank you, Master Hathel," she returned, pressing her lips into a smile as the young mortal moved to join her where she stood.

Elrond, though he drew nearer, did not join them.

"You have heard, I'm certain, of the Harvest Festival that is coming in a week's time?" Hathel asked now, a faint nervousness in his eyes now, though she could see he struggled to hide it.

Andreth did not answer for a moment, wondering why he would ask. Of course she had heard of it. Aelin and the other women servants had been speaking of the Harvest Festival for a month now, and Andreth was looking forward to it. A weeklong celebration it would be, filled with days of contests and storytelling, and nights of feasting and dancing. And it would give her a welcome weeklong reprieve from her studies.

"I have," she returned, hesitant. "I am looking forward to it."

"Good," he said, and swallowed stiffly as he drew a step closer to her, and reached out, taking up one of her hands. "I was hoping, perhaps, if you would accompany me to-"

At that moment, the door to the inner hall of the house opened, and Andreth's gaze flew to a figure who stopped frozen, in the doorway. As always, at the sight of Elros, her heart in the same moment, leapt in pleasure, and shrank back in uncertainty.

Andreth drew a step back from Hathel, and the young stone cutter dropped her hand.

"My lord, Elros," he greeted coolly.

The muscles of Elros jaw visibly contracted beneath the skin as he and Hathel eyed each other.

"Master Hathel." He nodded, drawing in a ragged breath, and visibly composing himself as he turned to Andreth. "My lady." He bowed his head toward her.

"Forgive me, Lady Andreth," he continued, his voice quavering beneath the forced stiffness of his tone. "I did not know you had a companion. I did not mean to interrupt."

He turned away.

"Elros wait-," Andreth called.

At her voice, Elros paused.

"My lord, Elros," she pleaded. "Did you- wish something of me?"

At the softness of her voice he half turned, his tipped ear and the side of his face visible. The sinews of his jaw contracted rhythmically beneath his skin. Beside her, she sensed Hathel stiffen slightly, and shift his weight.

"I-," The sinews of his jaw tensed and relaxed. A deep breath swelled Elros' chest and he released it.

But he did not have the chance to answer her, for behind Hathel, Elrond leapt up the steps.

"Elros," he greeted, his tone jovial. "I am glad to see you. There is something I have been meaning to speak of with you, little brother."

Elrond clapped an arm on Elros' shoulder, and moved to turn him around, to guide him back into the house.

Andreth dropped her eyes.

"No," Elros protested. "I wished to ask something of Lady Andreth first." Andreth's eyes lifted as Elros pulled his arm away from his brother and turned to look at Andreth.

"Andreth," he blurted, resisting even as Elrond clapped his arm more firmly, and tugged with greater insistence.

Her eyes flew up again and found Elros' gaze, sea grey and achingly soft. A deep breath swelled in his chest.

"I wished to ask if you would like to walk with me down by the sea before the last of the light fades," Elros said, his gentle grey eyes filled with pleading.

Andreth's lips parted in a silent gasp. Her very hope, childish though it was, was Elros' wish as well. Her heart clenched with such delight, yet with such fear in the same moment that tears threatened again to squeeze out of her eyes.

"Elros." Elrond's voice was no longer jovial, and was instead sternly insistent as his arm gripped his brother's shoulder. "Hathel is Andreth's guest. It would not be seemly to take her away while they are together."

"No," Elros shot back, turning on his brother now, sparks flying from his eyes and Elrond fell back a step at the fire in his brother's eyes. Even Andreth flinched, though his ire was not directed toward her. "Hathel is here, because of your bidding him. Therefore, he is _your_ guest. Am I right, Elrond?"

Elrond's jaw tightened now, and his brow furrowed, but as he turned and traded a glance with Hathel, Andreth could see a silent admission in his gaze.

"He did bid me to come," Hathel admitted, his voice hardening, "but I came to see, and to speak with Lady Andreth."

"And I too wish to speak to her," Elros said, turning his flaming eyes upon the young mortal. "Do you have a greater right than I?"

"My lords, please," Andreth cut in, her eyes moving back and forth between the two men whose eyes glared daggers now at one another. Within her, her heart felt like lead.

Biting her lip, Andreth turned toward Elrond.

"My lord, Elrond, forgive me. I fear that I have fallen victim to one of the maladies that afflict my race." She put her hand to her mouth. "I am not feeling well. Tell Aelin that I have gone to bed."

Andreth hurried away from Hathel and between Elros and Elrond without looking at either of them as she moved into the house, starting for the stairs that led up to her own chambers.

"Andreth," Elrond's voice said, heavy with concern, as his feet darted up behind her, "if you are not feeling well, permit me to see you safely to your rooms."

Elrond appeared at her side, his arm offered to her.

"Elrond," she said, turning to him, and reaching a hand out to grasp his arm, "you should stay here, to keep Elros and Hathel from- each other."

"I do not think my brother or Lord Hathel will do anything foolish," Elrond said, offering her a reluctant grin.

"You bid Hathel come here, this evening?" she asked softly.

Elrond sighed. "Yes," he confessed.

"Why?"

Elrond drew in a deep breath. "Because, Andreth, I want what is best for everyone." A strong, though gentle hand rested upon her shoulder, and she looked up. "For _everyone_, Andreth."

His eyes, like his brother's were gentle and sea grey, and studying them, Andreth realized that he truly did mean well. But also, that he was wrong. He did not realize it, but he was terribly wrong. She swallowed thickly.

"Come," he urged, offering his arm again, and a weak smile.

Without protest, Andreth took it, grateful for his strength, now that her own seemed to have faded.

As Elrond guided her away, she turned and looked back, meeting Elros' eyes where he stood, watching her through the open doorway.

Their gazes held for a moment, his gentle grey eyes heavy and sad before his gaze fell from hers, and he looked away.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Andreth sat at her dressing table, gazing at her reflection in the mirror illuminated with the glow of a single candle.

Despite the lateness of the hour, she had not gone to bed. Nor had she undressed yet, except for her feet, which were bare. Her hair hung loose about her shoulders, about the white gown with the full, flowing sleeves that she liked so well. She had worn it often, fancying that Elros liked the look of it on her.

She was weary, and sleepiness weighted her mind. But she did not want to sleep. As real as her dreams were, here in Círdan's house, she wished not to meet her dream prince. Not now, when Elros, real and alive, was only steps away, and had said, of his own volition, that he wished to walk with her along the sand of the sea shore of the waking world.

Through the drawn curtains of her balcony, silver moonlight spilled through. It was a full moon, she realized, and drew in a breath, imagining the way the water would look, washed beneath silver light as it lapped the white sand.

It must be a beautiful sight.

If so, then what was she doing here, alone, pining for- for what, for whom, she did not wish to think.

Drawing in a breath, she pushed away from her dressing table, and rose to her feet, padding toward her door in her bare feet. She turned the latch, the click of it sounding unnaturally loud in the stillness, and glided out into the empty hall. The only light was moonlight, spilling in through the wide window in the great arched hall beyond the narrow hallway where she found herself. And Andreth padded toward this.

The silver light grew greater as she neared the great open space and the walkway that surrounded it. As her hall emptied upon the walkway that surrounded the main hall of Círdan's house, and silver moonlight spilled over her bare feet, Andreth's eyes lifted, and she saw, seated at the window upon a cushioned bench, a dark haired elf, one knee drawn to his chest the other hanging over the edge of the cushion, his booted toe upon the floor.

Elrond. Her heart fell.

His eyes gazed out into the night, seeming to be transfixed upon the full moon that rode high in the eastern sky, well above the distant treetops. But at her silent appearance, Elrond turned his head, and saw her.

A smile touched his face.

"You are feeling better?" he asked, rising.

Andreth sighed. "I was never sick," she said. "Just sick at heart."

"Oh?" he asked.

Andreth's lips pursed as her heart gave a fierce throb. "And you know why, my friend."

Elrond dropped his eyes, and a look of sincere remorse came to his face. "Yes, I do." He lifted his eyes. "I am truly sorry, Andreth. It did not go as I envisioned it."

"_It, _meaning, my meeting with Hathel?"

Elrond drew in a long breath that swelled in his chest. "I went down to see him at his home, and he mentioned to me that he hoped he could take you to some of the festivities when the week of the Harvest Festival comes. So I bid him come up and ask you himself." Elrond shrugged. "If Elros had not come when he did-,"

"I am glad Elros came when he did," Andreth cut in. Her heart was pounding savagely now. Such firmness was not in her nature, and as she fixed her eyes upon the eyes of Elrond, one whom she truly thought of as a friend, yet whom she could no longer deny was acting like a fool, her heart felt as if it would burst in fear. Still, on she pressed.

"I am glad he came," she hissed. "Had he not, my answer to Hathel would have been a no. A gentle one, for he is not unkind. But I would have told Hathel that I would be pleased to see him at the festivities, but that I would not promise myself to any one man."

"You should not spurn him so," Elrond murmured. "He is growing, if you have not noticed, to care for you, Andreth."

"You encourage his hopes, Elrond!" she shot back. "I do not!"

Elrond did not speak, though his eyes remained fixed upon her in the silver darkness.

"Elrond," she sighed, wishing she had greater control of her emotions. "I think of you as a friend. I believe you to be good. But wishing to force Hathel and me together- it is wrong. For I tell you this now: I can never love him. I will never love him. Would you have me wed a man I cannot love Elrond?"

"I would not have you wed my brother."

Andreth felt frozen where she stood.

The words had been spoken.

To cover her crippling shock at the bluntly stated words, Andreth attempted to chuckle. "Why would you think I would wed Elros?"

Elrond countered this with another question. "Are you falling in love with him?"

Again, Andreth felt frozen in place, pinned beneath Elrond's fixed gaze. Her mouth felt dry. At last she managed, in a voice that was pitifully weak, but wrenchingly honest, "I don't know."

"Then answer me this," Elrond said, squaring his shoulders, his mouth a stern line. "What would your answer have been to him, had you had the chance to reply when he asked you to walk with him along the shore?"

"I would have answered him yes," she returned evenly, her voice still soft, but less broken than it had been moments before. "I have not yet allowed myself to go down to the sea. I want to very much."

"With him," Elrond added easily. "You want to go down to the shore with him. Only him."

Andreth tore her eyes at last from Elrond's, the truth too glaring to face any more.

"Andreth," Elrond murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle for one whose eyes had been so piercing. He drew a step nearer, though he was still several paces away. "My friend, do you know what would happen, if you gained your heart's desire? If you were the first mortal woman in all the world to win an elven husband?"

Andreth did not speak.

"Then I will tell you," he whispered in the quiet. "You would be happy. Blissfully happy. For a few years. A few decades. And he would be, as well. For you are beautiful, Andreth, and good and wise. But then, inevitably, you would begin to whither. He would remain young, strong, and in the prime of his manhood while you weakened and shrank, like a flower torn from its roots, and left in the sun. And then, Andreth, one day, you would die."

"I know this, Elrond," she choked.

Elrond pressed on. "Then you also know, I am certain, that elves do not love, do not wed but once. Elros I know, is not as Finwë. He will only ever love one woman in his life. The first choice of his heart will also be his last. If you win his love, Andreth, you will curse him to ages of loneliness after you are dead. He will pine for you, ache for you, for the rest of the ages of this world. But you will not be there."

Numbly, Andreth watched a faint whisp of cloud drift over the face of the moon beyond Elrond's shoulder.

"And what of any children that would come to your union, my friend?" he continued, his voice firm, but gentle. "If they were to be mortal, as their mother would be, then, Elros, lingering, would watch his descendants grow old, wither, and die, generation after generation, century after century, like sweet, precious water spilling through his hands.

"I have heard, Andreth, that there is nothing in the world so excruciating as watching your own child die. Would you wish that for him?"

Elrond's form, silhouetted in the light of the window behind him, blurred as tears filled her eyes, and spilled down her cheeks.

Blinking her tear filled eyes, she fixed them upon Elrond. His eyes were at once stern, and compassionate, merciless and gentle. How could anyone be so cruel, and so kind at once?

"Where is Elros?" she asked in a whisper.

Elrond drew in a sigh. "He is still outside. He never came in."

Andreth drew up her shoulders. "Good. Then I will go find him. The moon is full, and there is enough light to see by, if he still wishes to walk with me along the shore."

She turned toward the stairs.

"Have you heard nothing I have said?" Elrond's voice growled at her back. "Would you damn my brother to ages of sorrow?"

Andreth spun back. "There is no danger, Elrond, if he does not love me back," she choked.

"Oh, I think there is much danger," Elrond said, striding several steps toward her. His eyes flashed hard in the dark. "I have seen the way he looks at you, when you are not aware of his eyes upon you. They are not the eyes of a brother for a sister."

Andreth swallowed hard, and pulled her eyes from Elrond's furious glare. "Then I shall seek him out, and do my best to let him know that I am but a friend, and nothing more."

"Do not go to him at all!"

Andreth's eyes shot to Elrond's. Her heart flew into her throat, and fear shivered along her limbs, but still she spoke what her heart bid her. "Stop me, then, Elrond," she growled. "lay hold on me, bind me, and hide me away. For I am going to him, otherwise."

She turned and started toward the stairs, half wondering if Elrond would indeed take her challenge, and take hold of her, physically forcing her to stop.

But only his voice came from behind. "But there is one more thing, Andreth, that I have not said," he said, his voice low, almost hard.

"You will say no more, tonight."

The feminine voice, unexpected and bright in the silver darkness stopped Andreth in her escape, and she turned, her eyes growing round as the Lady Galadriel, and her lord, Celeborn, appeared out of the shadows of the hallway. The pair of them fairly glowing like Valar in the moonlight.

"Elrond," Celeborn's deep, resonant voice echoed in the silence. "Be seated. We wish to speak with you."

From the look of trepidation that cross the young elf lord's face, Andreth surmised that her friend predicted the coming interview would not be of trivial things.

Galadriel's eyes turned now to Andreth, and a softened smile touched her lips. "Go, young one. Find Elros, and walk with him where you will."

Needing no more urging, Andreth turned away, and flew down the stairs, the still, cool air catching in her hair, and at her gown as she went, drying the tears from her cheeks.

The great hall was dark and silent, but for a few candles burning here and there along the wall as she went, hurrying toward the door to the veranda, which, she could see, still stood open, a cool, night breeze brushing through.

A breath filled her lungs as Andreth paused upon the threshold, and gazed out into the night, the Tindómiel that entwined the balustrade gleaming like mithril in the darkness. Beyond the edge of the grassy slope, the sea glimmered beneath the moonlight to the horizon.

Elros was not on the veranda, and she could not see him down upon the grass from where she stood. She moved to the edge of the veranda. Still she could not see him.

Absently, she plucked two of the gleaming flowers, and tucked one into her hair, keeping the other in her hand as she descended the steps, and looked left and right.

Had Elrond directed her wrongly on purpose? She did not think so. He had been angry, but there was no _lie_ in his eyes.

Slowly, she moved over the path, the flattened pebbles of the path kind to her bare feet, until she reached the first stone step, and there she paused, her toes curled over the rim of the stone, her body poised, like a sea bird ready to take flight.

Here, the breeze was a little stronger, catching at her hair and blowing it back behind her, pressing her gown tightly against her body, and trailing her loose sleeves, and the full skirt of her gown behind her.

"_Tindómiel!"_

At Elros' voice, surprisingly near, and filled with wonder, Andreth turned to see him, striding over the grass toward her from around the side of the house, strong and bright and tall beneath the moonlight, beautiful as a young god, the dark braids of his hair blowing back in the night wind.

"My heart sings to see you, Tindómiel, my lady," he called as he drew near, smiling upon her. "You are not a dream? I have not fallen asleep, have I? I thought you had gone to bed."

"No, I am not a dream, nor are you, I hope," she returned as he drew to a stop an arm's length away, her heart beating swift and strong. _Had- had Elros just given her an epessë?_ "But why do you call me by that name, my lord? You know me. And dawn is yet far away."

"In the moonlight, you shine, my lady Andreth, like one of the flowers that so often grace your hair," he breathed.

Andreth ducked her eyes at his tender words, her thoughts darting to the meeting of Beren and Lúthien, Elros' ancestors, and how Beren had called the fair elf maiden _Tinúviel_ at their first meeting. She strove to remember her promise to Elrond that she would be as a friend and nothing more to Elros, but it was proving difficult as she studied the solid silhouette of his form, his broad shoulders and chest, firm beneath the cloth of his tunic, the honed angles of his face and jaw, and the pleasure she saw in his eyes at the sight of her.

"I am sorry I left you, Elros," she murmured, and at the soft, broken tones of her voice, his gaze softened, and he stepped nearer.

"No," Elros soothed, shaking his head. "You were caught between two winds. I was unfair, as was Master Hathel. We both behaved like spoiled boys. You were right to leave us both."

"But I should have graciously sent Hathel away, instead of abandoning you."

"Me?" he asked, a hint of eagerness in his voice. "Had you chosen, you would have taken _me_?"

"Of course," she breathed. "I-,"

Andreth stopped herself, studying the welcome glow in Elros' eyes. "I would be very pleased to walk along the shore with you, my lord," she murmured.

"And I, with you, my lady," he said, his smile as bright as the stars as he offered her the crook of his elbow, which she willingly took, before he started down the stone steps with her, toward the white sand, and the soft surf that whispered, rolling against the sand in a steady, eternal rhythm


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Elrond sat with the moonlight at his back, his hands upon his knees and his eyes upon the floor. Beside him, he heard the soft rustle of fabric as Galadriel took her seat at his side. Celeborn remained standing at his wife's shoulder. Elrond could feel his heart hammering within him as he waited for their words to fall.

"Elrond," Galadriel spoke first, and her voice, gentle as a mother's, and softened with disappointment, melted Elrond's heart more than any angry words could have. "What need had you, to make Andreth cry?"

He drew in a breath. "I did not wish to make her cry," he muttered to his hands. "Only to make her think. A love between her and Elros can only lead to tragedy. She must known that."

"Tragedy, Elrond?" now it was Celeborn who spoke; his resonant voice filled the silent emptiness of the sleeping house, though it remained soft and low. "Were the unions of your own ancestors tragic?"

Elrond swallowed hard, studying the backs of his hands. "Elros' path does not lead to mortality."

"You do not know that." Galadriel's voice sent a tremor through Elrond, soothing him and shaking him in the same moment. "Only he can know the will of the All Father in that matter."

"If the All Father's design is that Elros elect mortality," Celeborn added, "yet for your sake, Elros does not take that path, his life will be unfulfilled, and without joy. That, young Elrond, would be the greater tragedy."

"But if Elros chooses mortality for Andreth's sake," Elrond whispered softly, "as Lúthien did for Beren," Elrond gulped hard a thick lump forming in his throat, "then he will- he will _die_."

He did not look up, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Galadriel lift her eyes, and trade a silent glance with her husband.

"_I_ _do_ _not_ _want_ _to_ _lose_ _my_ _brother_," he said, daring now to lift his eyes, though they were swimming in wetness.

He blinked fiercely, struggling to keep the tears from spilling over the rims of his eyes.

"Elrond," Galadriel soothed, and her hand reached out, grasping his.

He lowered his face again, and lifted his free hand, angrily brushing his wrist across his cheek where a tear had fallen.

"We will not tell you not to feel as you do," Galadriel breathed. "For your feelings are your own, and Elros is all you have left on these shores. But we would have you try to remember what I told you when first young Andreth came here, when you and I sat here, and watched her and Elros as they were riding."

Elrond furrowed his brow, struggling to remember her words. "You told me that all that was to be done, was for Elros to realize what the All Father wished of him, and for all of us to accept it."

"Yes," she murmured. Her hand squeezed his. "I also told you that you are like a pearl that is still forming. You are still learning and growing, Elrond. As are Elros and Andreth. You are all still very young. Yet you are all destined for greatness." She drew in a soft sigh.

"Surely, you, with your discerning heart, have sensed as much?" Celeborn said.

Elrond crushed his eyes shut, and answered Galadriel's squeeze with gentle pressure from his own fingers.

"I have," he admitted, still unwilling to look up. "Andreth will be a great lady one day. I have sensed it. I also have seen- there is something within her that is yearning toward my brother, and something in him that is yearning toward her." He drew in a ragged sigh. "I wish it were not, and I cannot promise that I will do nothing." He looked up, his jaw tight. "But I will try, my lady, my lord, to trust the will of the All Father."

Beside him, Galadriel offered him the faintest of smiles, and behind her, as he lifted his eyes to her silver haired lord, Celeborn gave him a faint nod of approval.

Elrond drew in a breath and gently squeezed Galadriel's hand as he repeated, "I will try."

...oOo...

The sea, rippling in dappled shades of deep blue and purple, shimmered beneath the light of the full moon that rode high overhead. It was even more beautiful than Andreth had imagined it would be.

But perhaps the beauty of it was only enhanced by the beauty of her companion, in the crook of whose arm, her small hand rested.

They walked side by side along the shore, the cool water lapping at her bare toes, and dampening the hem of her gown. Save for the whisper of the surf, and a soft clatter as of water upon stone, stillness rested comfortably between them, for there was no need for words right now.

To her left, the water extended to the horizon where it met the dark sky in a thin line of purple. And to her right, beside Elros, a slope of a sandy hill, tufts of sparse grass dotting it, rose up steeply toward the bluff above their heads. Further ahead, the slope gave way to a sheer wall of stone, some lengths higher than Elros' head, and around this, Andreth wanted to go, to see what was beyond it. She had wanted thus, ever since her coming, and was eager to see what secrets lay beyond that jutting naith of rock.

Their steps were slow, however, and while Andreth's curiosity yearned toward the unknown stretch of beach that bent around that sheer wall of stone, she was still content to stroll unhurried by Elros' side.

It gave her time to mull over the thoughts that Elrond's words had put into her mind.

Was she indeed falling in love with this noble elven man beside her? She could not say, but perhaps, Andreth mused, lowering her eyes to the water that rolled over her bare feet, and soaked the hem of her gown, she was not allowing herself to admit so, to protect them both from the truth that Elrond had so boldly stated.

Letting her mind cast back over the months and weeks since she had first met Elros, Andreth had felt a mingle of longing and fear whenever her thoughts dwelt upon him. Perhaps the curious mingling of emotion stemmed from the very reasons of which Elrond had spoken. Elros, if he gave his heart to her, if they wed, would remain alone for the rest of the ages of the world after she died. If she truly desired his happiness, she dared not long for his love.

Andreth's heart gave a painful thud. Mortal that she was, she knew that she too, would only ever truly love one man. Her parents had loved only one another, and her father had never remarried after her mother died. Firiel too, and her husband had only ever loved one another. Like them, she too, had only one heart to give away, and if she gave it to Elros, she would never desire to give it to another. Perhaps, she like Andreth of old, would remain unmarried all her days, secretly loving an elven man she could never have. But such would not be so dreadful a thing. For she would not live forever.

But if her love was indeed returned-

Then why had she come out here, seeking Elros? Was there danger in this? Had she been foolish? Should she have done as Elrond wished and not come down to find his brother?

But the lady Galadriel had bidden her to go, to seek out Elros. She would not have bidden Andreth to do so, if it were not good.

"You may have heard, lady," Elros voice pierced the silence with tender intensity, loosing the painful constrictions of her thoughts, "that to elves, memory can often be very strong, sometimes, even, preserved so perfectly, that to return to a certain memory, is as if returning to the very moment itself."

Andreth lifted her head. She turned, seeing Elros' face beneath the moonlight, looking down at her as he walked beside her, his eyes softened with tenderness. And in that moment, she wished her memory were as an elf's, that she could capture the strong lines and angles of his face and jaw, his eyes shining in the moonlight, the night wind in his hair, and hold it forever in her mind, ever clear as it was now, never fading.

"I have, my lord," she returned in a whisper.

Elros nodded. "Then you will, I hope, understand my gratitude that you would come to me, and walk with me here, for I wish to show you this, and keep always in my mind, the pleasure that I hope now, to see upon your face."

He gestured forward, and Andreth looked to where he pointed.

Without her realizing, as she had been lost in thought, they had reached the point where the beach and the knoll above them, bent sharply. Beside her, the point of rock bent around, and Elros was leading her, now, around the bend.

In a moment, a new scene opened to her view, a stony beach, no longer sandy, extended into the dark distance. But nearer at hand, a swath of trees an arm of the forest that lay beyond Lord Círdan's house, spilled down the steep edges of a sloping knoll, shadowed and silver in the moonlight, reaching to within a hundred paces of the sea before the line of trees abruptly ended. But from between the roots of the last trees, a cheerfully trickling stream emerged, clattering over rocks, and down into the sea.

From with the shadows of the trees, came a louder clatter of water, and peering through what seemed a narrow tunnel through the rising trunks and the silver branches swaying gently in the night wind, Andreth caught a glimpse, in a ring of moonlight, of a small waterfall spilling over a lip of stone that jutted over a rising wall of rock. It clattered upon exposed rock before emptying into an open stone pool, this flowing into the small stream that passed now within paces of Andreth's bare feet.

Though surrounded by trees bathed in cool purple shadows, a silver aura seemed to glow about the water fall and the pool beneath, giving it all an ethereal glow. As if she were gazing upon something she would only see in the Blessed Realm.

"Oh," she breathed, reaching across herself and grasping Elros' arm with her free hand. "Oh, my Lord Elros. This is beautiful."

"It is, is it not?" he returned, his eyes shining. "And look. Beyond the water."

He pointed directly to the waterfall, and peering through the sheets of water, Andreth could see, not a rocky face beyond, but darkness.

"A cave," she murmured. "There is a cave beyond the waterfall."

"Come," he urged, the pleasure in his eyes and bearing almost a palpable thing. He stepped forward a few paces, letting her hands slide from his arm, though he turned back, and offered her his hand. "See inside."

"But my feet are bare, the roots may be rough, and the rocks-,"

"There is a path of flat stones, gentle even to unshod feet," he assured her. And as she followed his pointing finger, Andreth noted, beginning almost at her feet, a path of flat stone leading from where she stood, along the curving wall of the cliff beside her, and into the trees toward the waterfall.

"But if it would give you comfort," Elros continued, "I shall carry you from here."

"I would have you carry me," she said, letting, for the moment, her heart dictate her words, for she knew that she could easily traverse this path so long as her hand remained in his.

A smile, fair as the stars, touched Elros' lips, and in a moment, Andreth felt herself lifted, effortlessly, in the elf lord's strong arms.

The sudden intimacy of the contact between them, set her heart to pounding furiously. Andreth, not knowing what else to do with her own arms, wrapped them around Elros' firm shoulders, achingly conscious of the tension and movement of his sturdy muscles beneath the cloth of his tunic, and the warmth of his strong chest as he started along the stone path toward the cave.

Her face was close to his own, and Andreth dared not meet his eyes, so near, and with his soft expressive mouth so close, choosing, rather, to look over his shoulder at what they had just passed, and up into the leafy canopy as he ducked into the soft, whispering shadows of the trees.

The clatter of water neared, and she felt now, on her skin, the cool touch of the mist. And for a moment, moonlight, unrestrained spilled over her as the trees about the waterfall broke.

After another moment, cool shadows closed over them again, and into her vision, came a translucent sheet of water, through which she could see the trees, and the sea beyond, though mottled through its changing surface. The sound of the falling water changed as well, the echoes suggesting that she was now in an enclosed chamber.

"Here we are," Elros murmured, his voice betraying no strain as he set her, gentle as a cloud, upon the flat floor of the cave, cool against her bare feet, so that she could turn about, and study the interior.

It was dark, but she guessed that Elros could see it better than she. Still, she could make out some few things, a crudely fashioned chair, and a small table.

"Someone lives here?" she wondered, straining to see in the darkness.

"No," Elros said. "But Elrond and I- we have been here before. More than once." She could hear the pleasure in his voice. "Perhaps you and I should return here in the daylight, as well. And you can see it better."

Andreth turned to him. Through the darkness, she could see his face, lit by the faint, mottled moonlight that danced and twisted through the sheet of falling water, certain he could see the same effect upon her own face, and the wonder in her eyes.

"This is the cave where you were found. When you were little."

Even in the near darkness and the changing light, she could see his smile and nod. But then his smile faltered. "Maglor brought us here, and told us to play. He gave us food. Then he went away. I think he knew that other elves were nearby, and meant for them to find us. Good Huan, my pony, whom I have spoken of before was found grazing not far from here. But Maglor and Maehdros, we never saw again."

Through the darkness, she could hear sorrow in his voice. His smile was sad, and his eyes were somber.

How very much she wished to go to him now, to touch his face, and smooth away any sorrow that she could see.

Instead, she stepped back, reached out a hand, and touched the rough wall of the cave, lowering her eyes. "Why have you shown me this?"

Elros's boots whispered as he stepped near to her. Andreth's heart skipped a beat as the warmth of his fingers tentatively brushed her own, not clasping hers, but not releasing them either. "For the same reason that King Gil Galad told you of his slain beloved."

Andreth lifted her eyes. Elros hovered above her, his body so close to her own, that she could feel the warmth of him through the cloth of her gown, though only their fingertips touched.

"You are _elf-friend_." His free hand lifted, as if it would brush her face, though his fingers did not quite touch her, hovering a fraction above her cheek. "And, more than that, you are Andreth Tindómiel, most beautiful of all the daughters of elves or of men."

"Elros-" she breathed, letting herself lean back against the wall of stone, cool and rough against her back, her eyes uplifted to Elros' as he drew closer.

He leaned nearer, and she could feel his breath, warm and soft against her mouth. Andreth's very soul sang; a song of mingled ecstacy and despair. She long with all that she was, to simply let her eyes fall closed, and let the soft press of his mouth find her own, but even as she wished it, she knew she could not let him, not if she truly cared for him. For she would die one day, and if he loved her, he would be bereft, forever.

"We should return, my lord," Andreth choked, forcing strength into her voice as she moved so that she was no longer between Elros and the wall of the cave. The fingers of her hand, though, still remained within his own, for neither would break that one, tentative contact between them. "It is late, and we must both rise early."

Elros looked crestfallen as he glanced away, the sinews of his jaw growing taut, and his eyes filling with unmistakable disappointment.

"Of course," he said at last, visibly rallying as he turned his gaze back to her. "We both have much to do on the morrow."

He smiled, and while it was warm and sincere, the sadness in his eyes was evident. "Come," his hand tightened gently. "Let us go back to Lord Círdan's house. And to much welcome sleep."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

The moon, high in the sky within the dreamscape where Andreth found herself, shone down upon the land below like a bright silver lamp as she found herself again in her dream, upon the grassy knoll overlooking an east facing shoreline. It was always the same, yet she never tired of it.

Lowering her eyes, she found herself in a soft white gown, much like the one she had worn earlier, with scooped neck and long, flowing sleeves. Though as always, a a single pearl suspended from a silver necklace, rested upon her soft flesh, just above the hem of her neckline. In her hair, she felt the familiar circlet of silver, and touched a hand to it, feeling the touch of the cool metal, and the pearl suspended from it, which matched the pearl on her necklace.

Drawing in a deep breath of air, Andreth looked about herself, wondering where her dream prince was. He had never been far away in these dreams, this perfect vision of Elros. But now, she could not see-

"The stars are no different than they are in the waking world."

His soft, strong voice came from not far away, and Andreth turned toward the sound, seeing her dream of Elros lying upon his back amidst the high green grass. As always, he wore finely woven breeches, and a richly embroidered tunic. And a circlet was on his brow as if he were a king.

"My lord," she said with a smile, moving to stand over him. "Your clothes are far too fine for lying upon grass. They may be stained."

"I am dreaming," he said, fixing his eyes upon her, and smiling, half rising upon his elbows. "So I can do as I please. My garb will not be harmed."

"How funny you speak, my lord," she teased dropping to her knees at his side. "_I_ am dreaming."

"Of course," he agreed easily, reaching up to take her hand gently in his own. "But let it be. Come. Lie upon the grass. Look at the stars with me."

Andreth smiled and began to settle down in the grass beside him.

"No," he said, sitting fully up, and drawing her back up as well. "Do not lie beside me."

Andreth's lips parted in confusion. "But you just asked me to-,"

"Forgive me," he said again. "Being of my own mind, I thought you would understand without my explaining. Lie with your head beside mine, the rest of you lying so that your feet point south."

Andreth grinned at this, and complied, moving so that her body lay in the opposite direction of her dream prince, then settled onto the sweet smelling grass, her head beside his, and sighed as she lifted her eyes to the sky.

"They_ are _the same," she observed, seeking, almost without thinking, his hand where it lay beside his head. Their fingers intertwined, long blades of grass woven through with their fingers. "And just as real."

"They are, and just as beautiful," he agreed.

Her dream prince turned his head, the grass rustling as he did, and Andreth turned as well, giggling at the sight of his face, upside down.

"Why, my lord," she queried, gentling squeezing his fingers as she spoke, "did you wish me to lay this way, rather than beside you?"

His smile faded to a soft, somber look at the question. A deep breath filled his lungs, and he hesitated before he spoke. "Because, fair one, when these dreams began, vivid and real as they are, I promised myself that I would never cross the bounds of propriety, no matter how tempted I was. I vowed that I would never touch nor kiss but your hand. And as beautiful as you are, I fear that were you to lay down beside me, your body beside mine, I may not be able to contain myself. For you, dream though you be, are the very image of Andreth Tindómiel, who is more beautiful than all the daughters of elves or men or Maiar. Though you already wear about your neck the pearl I carry with me always, and would see about her fair neck, if I could."

Her dream prince gently squeezed her fingers as he turned his eyes to the sky again. His voice became a reverent whisper. "When she walks, she moves as with the grace of an ocean wave; her body slender and supple as a young willow, her hair like russet and gold in the sun. I am entranced by her, and desire awakens in my blood when I look upon her. Yet I am alone with you, and none are here to remind me of my promise but myself. I wish to avoid the danger of breaking that promise."

"Oh," Andreth murmured, feeling warmth creeping over her body as she studied the lines of her dream prince's jaw, the tip of his peaked ear, the tresses of his dark hair pooled about his firm shoulders. She turned her eyes again toward the sky, more aware than before, of his strong, lean fingers woven through with hers.

"And I am more determined than ever now, to keep my word," her dream prince continued, "for I learned something tonight, in the cave which I showed my lady."

"What did you learn?"

"Speaking as if you were Andreth herself," he continued; she could feel the soft caress of his thumb against her fingers, "I learned that I do not wish to be parted from you. Light fills my very soul when I see your face, or think of you. I long for you. Hunger for you. But it is not only desire of the body when I look at you, Andreth Tindómiel."

He paused and finished in a whisper, "I am falling in love with you."

Andreth's heart stopped within her. This was only a confession of her dream prince, and not of Elros himself. Still, to hear such words in the tones of Elros' voice sent a wave of joy and grief surging wildly through her body.

"I think I understand now the path I must choose," he continued softly, his voice shaking as he spoke, "I know this will grieve Elrond. It grieves me to think of parting from him. He and I have been together from my earliest memory. But I must follow_ my _path. The path the Valar have set for me. And I think- I hope- desperately, that you are to be a part of it."

Andreth sighed, uncertain what her dream prince meant. Perhaps it was just mere absurdity of her sleeping mind.

"I am mortal," she breathed to the sky. "You dare not love me, for I will grow old and die, while you-,"

"No, my beautiful Tindómiel," and by the rustling of the grass, she realized he was rising. She turned her head to look up into his face where he rose, propped on one elbow, gazing down into her eyes, his expression fraught with tenderness.

He lifted her hand, and as this dream vision so often did, pressed a tender kiss into her palm. How warm and real his soft mouth felt-

"I will not linger alone, bereft of you, for I and my brother are _Peredhil _and we have been given a marvelous choice between-"

Her dream of Elros vanished in an instant, disappearing as if he had not even been there. Her hand once holding his, closed upon empty air. He was gone.

Andreth sat up hurriedly, noting the long grass that had been pressed flat by his weight, springing slowly back now that he was not there. She cast her eyes about, longing to see him, though she knew she would not, before she drew her knees close, and hugged them, contemplating the words of her dream prince who looked and sounded so much like Elros. The swell of mingled ecstacy and fear still coursed through her. And now she knew why such emotions would war within her.

She was falling irredeemably in love with Elros, mighty elven lord though he was. And Andreth knew, in a moment of sudden clarity, both beautiful and terrible, that she did not wish to love any other.

...oOo...

"Elrond," Elros moaned, holding a hand up to block the light of the silver lantern above his face. "What are you doing? It is the middle of the night. And I was having a glorious dream."

The hand that had gently jostled his shoulder withdrew. Elros fell back against his pillow and threw his arm over his face to shield his eyes from the light as the indistinct form above him drew back a step.

"It is well past the middle of the night," a voice said, its owner withdrawing a pace. And at the voice, Elros thrashed quickly up again, shivering as his coverlet slipped down to his waist, the cool air brushing his bare chest.

"Morning is just on the other side of the horizon," Círdan said warmly as he set the silver lamp upon a table beside him. The silver haired elf's features became distinct, now that Elros was not blinded by his lamp, and he realized the ancient shipwright was clad as for travel, in breeches, tunic, and riding cloak.

"My lord, forgive me." Elros swung his legs over the side of his bed, and brushed his palms against the knees of his sleeping breeches. "I thought you were Elrond. What do you wish of me?"

He glanced over toward the window that shrouded his balcony. Sure enough, a dim blue light was seeping through, heralding the coming of the sun.

"There is nothing to forgive, young Elros," Círdan assured him with a warm grin. "If anything, I am in need of your forgiveness for what I am about to ask. For this request came most suddenly. Last night, as I was climbing up the hill from Mithlond, not long after the setting of the sun, I met young Master Hathel, the stonemason, coming down toward the city. He told me that he and a few of his men mean to journey to a new stone quarry this morning, and that he would be most appreciative of my help. He said he wished me and either you or your brother to go with him, to make certain the stone is of the proper quality. If so, we will help bring a new load of stone blocks back to the city."

"And you wish me to be the one to go with you," Elros surmised.

The ancient shipwright released a rueful breath. "Elrond is needed here. Young Andreth still has much to learn in the way of medicine and healing, and would suffer more with his absence than yours. We will be gone for over a week."

Elros felt a weight of disappointment settle in his chest. That would mean that he would miss much of the Harvest Festival. And he would be parted from Andreth as well, and in the company of Hathel, the prospect of which he did not relish. But he nodded, uncomplaining. "Of course. I can be ready for the journey within the quarter of an hour."

Círdan smiled at this. "I am most grateful, Elros. I will await you at the stables."

With that, the silver haired elf gave a nod, and opened the door, retreating out into the hall and drawing the door shut behind him.

Alone again, Elros bent his head, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes to rub the sleep from them.

"Thus it is," he muttered softly to himself. "The morning I realized how I have come to feel for you, I am to be parted from you, Andreth."

He drew a deep breath into his lungs, then pressing his hands to his knees, shoved himself to his feet.

...oOo...

Andreth blinked, coming again to the waking world, and drew in a soft breath as her eyes opened to gaze up at the gossamer canopy above her head.

To her right, blue light filtered in through the curtains that led out to her balcony. The morning was not far away.

Sleep still pulled at her eyelids, but she had no more desire to sleep, now that she was awake. Her dream world, beautiful though it was, was not the same without the fair vision of Elros there.

Pushing back her coverlet, Andreth rose, hugging her arms to herself against the air that brushed through her nightgown to her skin beneath as she pattered across her room to her balcony, and pushed aside the curtain, pressing her hand against the glass that misted beneath her warm breath.

The world below was bathed in soft blue light, and to the west and north, the sky over the land where Firiel was probably starting to stir from sleep, was clear. The forests were beginning to change here and there, into shades of orange and red, though many trees still bore green leaves.

Andreth drew the door open, wishing to drink in more fully, the sweetness of the morning air, and padded out onto her balcony, moving to the railing to press her hands against the cool metal.

She shivered a little as the cool air of early autumn filtered easily through the thin cloth of her sleeping gown to her bare skin beneath, but Andreth did not care, grateful for the blue stillness of the morning, as she drank in the sweet air.

A soft equine wicker and the clopping of hooves brought her attention back from the distance, and Andreth dropped her eyes to the roof of the stable. She started when she noticed men gathered in the yard before the stalls of the horses. Three men, whom she recognized at once, despite the dim blue light of the morning.

Elros, his form tall, his hair long and dark, and his shoulders firm beneath the short cloak he wore, was garbed for riding in tunic and breeches, and supple riding boots. Lord Círdan too, appeared ready for a journey on horseback as he busied himself with saddling Celegben, Elrond's horse. Elrond, seeming to have come to see them off, held the reigns of Nórui, Elros' horse as his brother saddled his stallion, the two brothers clearly engaged in earnest conversation meant clearly for no other ears but their own.

Releasing a ragged breath, she tore her eyes away from Elros' strong, sturdy form, and turned her gaze northward back toward the home she had come from.

Perhaps it was best he was going away, though her soul wished he was not. Perhaps it would be best for Elros to be parted from her she thought, even as it idea filled her with sorrow, for then he could clear his head, and realize that there were elven maidens nearby, in this very city, far more lissom and fair than Andreth, and whom he would never lose to death.

Andreth swallowed thickly, and brushed her hands across her eyes, determined not to cry for him, or for herself.

When she looked back again, only Elrond stood alone before the stables, his eyes fixed away on what Andreth could not see.

...oOo...

The great door creaked as it opened, and Elros, his heart heavy, looked up to see his brother dropping down the steps and striding toward him where he stood, adusting a leather strap over the ears of his stallion, Nórui. Not far away, Lord Círdan was preparing Celegben, whom he was borrowing from Elrond, in a similar manner.

At Elrond's approach, Círdan lifted a hand in silent greeting. Elrond returned the gesture, though he kept his feet pointed toward his brother.

In silence, Elrond stopped at Nórui's head.

Elros nodded his thanks as his brother finished adjusting the bridle for him. Elros turned, and picked up the saddle from the ground.

"Did all go well, last night?" Elrond murmured, his hand moving along Nórui's neck.

Elros busied himself with his stallion's saddle, uncertain of what he would see in his brother's eyes if he met his gaze.

"Andreth and I had a pleasant walk along the sand," he said. "I took her around the bluff, and showed her where the arm of the forest comes down nearly to the sea. I showed her our cave, back within the trees and took her inside, though I fear it may have been too dark for her eyes. What she did see, seemed to please her."

"And?" Elrond murmured, his hand still moving slowly along Nórui's neck.

Silence rested between them for a long moment before Elros looked up. Elrond too, lifted his eyes, and met his brother's.

"I tried to kiss her, Elrond," he admitted.

Elrond's hand moving slowly along the stallion's neck, stopped in mid stroke. "She would not let you?"

"She would not, and I do not know what her feelings are, for me," Elros continued, hearing his voice roughening as his heart beat quickened.

"Even so," he sighed raggedly, "I realize now that I am in love with her."

To this, Elrond drew in a ragged breath, and swallowed fiercely, his entire body seeming to stiffen as if Elros had struck a javelin through him.

"Elros," Círdan called, his voice slicing the sudden tension between the two brothers like a knife. The silver haired elf swung to Celegben's back. "We must be off. We have a long journey before us."

"Yes my lord," Elros returned, his voice roughened as he too swung up to Nórui's back, gazing now, down into Elrond's stricken eyes, his heart wrenching within him.

Elros' jaw trembled. "Be kind to Andreth while I am gone."

Elrond nodded stiffly. "I will be," he vowed, though his words were a fierce whisper.

"And tell her-" Elros paused, "that I will return soon, though I do not know if such words would please her, or not."

"I will."

A glimmer of white out of the corner of his eye caught Elros' gaze, and he looked up, his heart swelling at the sight of Andreth, standing upon her balcony, looking away west and north. Hair, the warm color of honey spilled about her shoulders as her hands pressed the railing. Her arms were long and smooth and white, her white sleeping gown fluttering in the gentle breeze, pressing against her slender body, and outlining her alluring curves. She did not see him, and her eyes seemed sad.

Elros released a ragged breath before turning Nórui's head after Celegben, and trotting away. He turned back once to see Elrond, still standing where he had left him as still as a statue, watching after his departing brother.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The wheels of the wagon pulled by two thick shouldered horses clattered over the paving stones of the street behind him where Hathel's two mortal companions rode, as Elros trotted at Círdan's side. He was thankful for the wise elf's presence. The hooves of Hathel's own mount clopped over the paving stones a few lengths behind his own, and he could feel the eyes of the young mortal burning into his back.

This journey was going to be thoroughly miserable, he mourned. If he made it through at all without a knife in his back.

"Young Master Hathel has his faults, my friend," Círdan's voice sounded beside him, as if the wise shipwright could sense his thoughts, "but he is not without honor."

Elros glanced over toward the bearded elf, and Círdan smiled. "Even toward his rival for a lovely maid whose honey colored hair shines like russet and gold in the sunlight."

Elros dropped his eyes to Nórui's flowing mane, feeling his face darkening. "You know, then?" he muttered.

"Come now Elros," Círdan said, easing Celegben closer. "You know me well enough to know that there is little that I miss. Also, I did not intrude, but I was well aware of what you and Elrond spoke about."

Elros studied the kindly eyes of the bearded elf. "And do you approve?"

"Whyever would I not?" Círdan asked.

"Andreth is mortal."

Círdan inclined his head in silent consent to this.

"Elrond doesn't approve."

"Elrond is your brother. You are all that he has left on these shores, and he does not want to be parted from you."

"Nor do I wish to be parted from him. But neither do I wish to be parted from Andreth. I do not now wish to choose an immortal life, knowing that after she died, I would linger for ages in a world where she is not." Elros drew a deep breath into his chest. "I do not know how she feels toward me, but for my part, I am in love with her, my lord."

Círdan's smile of approval warmed his soul, and Elros continued. "But if- if I choose mortality, it would be not be _just_ for Andreth. For I feel in my heart, that there is more at stake than the favors of a lady. The choices of Elrond and me will impact the world for centuries. Ages, even."

Círdan nodded. "Like ripples upon a pond," he said softly.

"For the sake of generations unborn," Elros murmured, "I must make the right choice."

For a moment, all that echoed in the sleepy streets were the clop of their horses hooves, and the clatter of the wagon's wheels. Elros could feel the eyes of young Hathel still upon his back, glowering with displeasure.

No doubt the young mortal wondered what the two elven men were talking about, and perhaps, rightly guessed.

"Tell me," Círdan queried gently, "that pearl I found on the shore. The pearl that was meant for you. Is it helping at all?"

Elros touched a hand to a small pouch on his belt, lifted the flap and felt inside for the small gem. He lifted it out, and the tapering pearl glowed in the early morning twilight.

"It isn't a magic talisman, or luck bringer," Elros said, studying the creamy sheen of its surface. "It is a pearl, nothing more or less."

Círdan lifted his brows. "That pearl has been without a setting far too long. You should amend that."

The silver-haired elf nodded ahead of them toward a small shop that stood not far from the open gate that was drawing steadily nearer. A small sign hanging over the door proclaimed it to be the shop of a jeweler.

"You should have it set into something. It could be ready for you by the time you return."

Elros looked over at Círdan, and the shipwright nodded again.

"Hold a moment," the ancient elf called over his shoulder, reigning in Celegben. Elros followed suit, and after a momentary glance back at Hathel, who was indeed glaring at him, slid smoothly off his stallion's mount.

"What is the delay?" Hathel demanded.

One of Hathel's companions, a swarthy bearded man with thick arms leaned toward his companion, a sandy haired man with a scruffy beard, and muttered, "_The elf's probly got to go make water, or somethin'_."

"_Nwah_," the sandy haired man whispered back. "_Elves never hafta make water_."

"Oh, I assure you, we do, on occasion," Círdan said, turning Celegben's head about, and smiling casually at the mortals.

The sandy haired man on the wagon seat blushed furiously beneath the scruff of his beard and dropped his eyes while his swarthy companion elbowed him, and muttered "_Dolt_," beneath his breath. Hathel rolled his eyes. Elros struggled to hide a grin as he turned and started for the shop door.

The rap upon the wood sounded amplified in the quiet of the morning, and stung his knuckles. But he was rewarded a moment later, by a stirring within.

The creaking door opened, revealing a young dark haired elf, clad in a thick leather apron, his long hair tide back behind his head.

The initial disinterest in the youth's eyes brightened into sudden recognition. "My lords! Círdan, Elro- er,"

"Elros," Elros assured the youth.

"Lord Elros," the young elf said, before turning his head halfway, and calling over his shoulder, "Adar?"

From behind the youth came an older elf also dark haired, and clad in a thick leather apron like his son. His face was both surprised and pleased. "I am Mirion, my lord, can I be of service to you?"

"I would like this pearl made into a- a necklace, if you please," Elros said, holding out the pearl. "For a lady."

"Ah," the jewelsmith said, his eyes shining in appreciation as he took the pearl in his hands. "It would be a pleasure to adorn such a rare pearl as this! And I can assure you, your lady will be most pleased with our work. What metal had you in mind, my lord? Gold? Silver?"

"Mithril, if you have any."

The jewelsmith started at this, glanced over Elros' shoulder at Círdan, and back. "I do, barely, but my lord, mithril can be hard to come by."

"I can promise you will be well compensated."

The jewelsmith drew in a breath, and managed a smile. "Very well, is there a certain- look you wish this necklace to have?"

Elros nodded, recalling the way the pearl, hanging from its bright silver chain, looked against the dream maiden's fair bosom. How much fairer would it look, about the true Andreth's shapely neck. "Have you a piece of parchment?"

"Of course, my lord, come in," the jewelsmith and his son stepped back, admitting Elros into the chamber. a table sat in the center of the room.

"Here, my lord," the youth said, turning away and picking up a piece of crackling parchment from a side table, and a well of ink, a feather dipped in it.

"I wish it to look like this," Elros said, spreading the parchment on the center table, and moving the quill quickly over the parchment, bringing to life the necklace he had seen so many times about the slender neck of the dream maiden. "A simple woven chain, and a delicate coil here, wrapped around the pearl itself, binding the pearl to the chain."

He looked up at the jewelsmith. "Can you do that, sir?"

The elven man grinned. "If you can draw it, my lord, I can make it."

"Can you have it ready in time for the Harvest Festival?"

"Of a certainty," the elven man said.

"It may be a few days into the Festival that we will return."

"It will be waiting for you, my lord."

Elros smiled. "Thank you."

With that, he turned, and strode out the door, swinging easily onto Nórui's back in the cool morning air.

Glancing over at Círdan, he grinned at the ancient shipwright's smile of approval. But out of the corner of his eye, he caught Hathel's expression, and turned, meeting the mortal stonemason's eyes.

The young mortal did not glare at him, but his eyes were not welcoming either, telling Elros more than words, the young mortal's displeasure, contained though it was.

Elros heaved a sigh, and turned his eyes forward, urging Nórui on again.

Indeed, this would be a long, and arduous journey. But then, as he thought of the pearl he had left behind in the jewelsmith's keeping, he would see Andreth again when he returned. And he would have a gift for her.

And this thought brought a smile to his face.

...oOo...

The small room, just off the garden north of Círdan's house held the same, musty, familiar scent she had grown used to, and which gave her a measure of comfort as Andreth paused in the doorway, barely lifting her eyes toward Elrond who sat at the far end of the long table laden with various herbs, and one small bubbling pot over a tiny flame near his hand that sent a bitter sweet aroma into the air.

His eyes were not on the little pot however, but upon a tablet in his hand upon which was a sheet of parchment. In his right hand, he held a feather quill, and from the strokes and lines he drew upon the parchment, she guessed he was not making notes, but rather drawing something.

At another time, she might have moved near him, and asked him what he was doing, but now, she dared not. He had warned her not to go with Elros, and she had not heeded him, listening instead, to her own heart, and Galadriel's words. And because she had gone to him, so much had become wonderfully, tragically clear. How much had Elros told his brother this morning? Had her rebuff of him been enough to save him from losing his heart to a mortal? It had not been enough to save her from losing her own heart to an elf. Of course, Andreth thought, as she stood poised in the doorway, studying Elrond out of the corner of her eye, her heart had already succumbed to Elros long before she had walked with him beside the moonlit sea. It was only last night she realized it. How much would Elrond know or guess of all this, just by looking at her?

Pursing her lips, Andreth drew up a stool, and settled herself at the far end of the table, picking up a stone pestle where it rested in its stone bowl, and picked up a handful of dried leaves beside her. She sprinkled them down in the bowl's curved basin, and began to crush them with the pestle.

"You are early, my friend."

Elrond's voice, echoing in the otherwise silent room, caused her to start, and Andreth jerked her head up, her heart flying in her throat as she met Elrond's eyes at the far end of the table.

His eyes were not unkind, and courage stirred in her heart.

"Elros is gone," she replied, wishing her voice did not shake so. "And I cannot ride on my own anyway, because Maidh and the other horses have been let out to pasture."

Beside the dried leaves, sat a small pile of small bags of loosely woven cloth, and a small ladel. Taking up one of the small bags in the other hand, Andreth carefully scooped a spoonful of the crushed leaves into the small bag.

She continued, "So I thought I would use the time to prepare some soothing tea, for Master Gondien, for when I go to see how he is today."

Elrond drew in a breath as if he would say something, but then paused and let it out, seeming to change his mind.

"You are very kind, Andreth," he said, though his voice was low. "I do not doubt but that your visits cheer him greatly, and speed his recovery."

"Thank you," she said softly, dropping her eyes again to her work.

Silence again settled like a blanket over the room before Elrond stirred once more.

Heaving a breath, Elrond pushed himself back from the table, blew the small flame away from under his bubbling little pot, and moved around the table toward Andreth. She watched him coming, quiet and still where she sat, the scrape of the stool's legs on the floor loud in the quiet as he moved a stool to sit beside her.

"I want to show you something," he urged, and Andreth dropped her eyes to the parchment he had been sketching. "Look."

A lovely elf maiden with light hair and shining eyes, gazed soulfully out at her from the surface of the paper.

"I've never attempted to draw her, before."

"She's beautiful," Andreth replied, touching a finger reverently to the parchment. The maiden was so skillfully drawn, so full of life, that even drawn with black ink, it seemed almost as if she would step off the parchment. "Who is she?"

"I don't know," he sighed. "I've only ever seen her in my dreams. And from a distance."

"If you added color, her hair would be-"

"Silver."

"Like Lord Círdan, or Lord Celeborn."

Elrond nodded. "And her eyes, blue."

"Are elven dreams this vivid?"

"Sometimes," he said. "Not always."

Andreth nodded, silent, the words sending a rush of heat to her cheeks as she thought of her own dreams since coming to Círdan's house.

"My brother asked me to give you a message."

She swallowed at his mention of Elros, and turned to look into Elrond's face. How much could Elrond see in her eyes?

"What was it?"

"He wished me to tell you that he will return soon." Elrond drew in a sigh. "I promised him I would tell you."

Andreth dropped her eyes, feeling her cheeks flushing wildly.

"Andreth." His voice had softened, and she lifted her eyes again.

"I am sorry I made you cry last night," he said, his mouth an even line, though his eyes were penitent.

She studied his eyes, grey like his brother's, and nodded her forgiveness.

"What you said is true," she admitted wearily. "Though I do not think anyone could say what the fate of our children would be. Perhaps they would be immortal, as you are." She drew in a ragged sigh. "In any case, I would never wish to cause Elros ages of sorrow."

"I know you wouldn't," he murmured. "Thank you for refusing to kiss him."

Andreth felt herself flushing furiously, and she dropped her eyes, letting her hands go limp upon the tabletop. "He told you?"

She sensed Elrond nod beside her.

"It was what had to be done." she murmured.

Elrond's eyes seemed to burn into her for a long moment, silently assessing her, before he spoke again. "But you wanted him to kiss you, didn't you?"

She found herself unable to look up into his eyes for a long moment, before she drew in a ragged breath. "Last night you asked me something, to which I did not then know the answer."

She lifted her face. "I know it, now."

Elrond's gaze was weighted as his eyes met hers as if he guessed what she was about to say.

"I am in love with your brother," she murmured.

Elrond flinched faintly, though his eyes did not break from hers.

"I did not mean to lose my heart to him, but-,"

She dropped her face, pressing her fingertips to her brow, "Oh Valar, help me," she breathed. "Elrond, he is so wonderful, and kind and unfeigned, and so- _beautiful_. Something in me yearns to cleave to him. To- forgive me for saying this- to _give_ myself to him. I want to be his wife, Elrond. Yet because of the very love that I feel, I know I cannot ask of him something that will bring him sorrow for ages! I cannot myself become immortal!"

"Andreth," Elrond murmured, and in his tone, she heard both pity and reproach. "Only grief can come of this."

"I know," she pleaded into her hands.

"Elros is all I have left," he continued. "I do not want to watch him suffer through ages alone, nor do I want to lose him to death."

"Death?" She lifted her eyes. She drew in a ragged breath and brushed her hands against her cheeks. "The war is over. What do you mean?"

Elrond drew and released a deep breath, studying her eyes long. "Elros and I are _Peredhil."_

She bit her lip. "Yes. You have the blood of mortals in you. Through your forefathers, Tuor and Beren."

Elrond nodded. "Last night, I spoke of what would happen if you wed my brother, and he continued the immortal life to which he was born."

Andreth nodded, her breath arrested in her throat.

"I did not tell you of the choice given us, not long ago. After the War of Wrath came to its end."

Andreth choked on a soft breath. "Ch-choice?"

"The Lord Eönwë himself gave it to us."

Andreth looked down, feeling small. "The great herald of Manwë, his son, some say."

"We were given the power to choose between the two kindreds, to which one we would align ourselves. I knew, immediately, in my mind and heart, which choice I was to make, and I will remain one of the Elder Kin. But Elros-"

Elrond's voice trailed off. Andreth's heart constricted within her.

"What of Elros?" she breathed.

"He did not know which to choose. Eönwë bid him decide before six months passed, and Elros vowed that he would know by then. The time is nearly up, and then he will be called upon to state his choice. If Elros knows you love him, and if he has given his heart to you-"

Elrond fell silent, and Andreth continued in a whisper, "Then he will choose the life of the Second Born."

Elrond nodded, his eyes somber. Reaching out, he pressed his hand against Andreth's forearm, his eyes seeking hers.

His fingers were heavy, and trembled, and his eyes were wet with pleading. "My brother will choose a mortal life, Andreth. To be with you. For your love, my lady, he will _die_."

...oOo...


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

"Marvelous, Lady Andreth!" Aelin praised as the last notes of Andreth's flute flitted away into the air and faded, followed by the sound of appreciative applause from Aelin, and the other ladies gathered about her on the grass at the steps up to the veranda.

"Indeed," Galadriel agreed, offering the young mortal a gentle smile as most of the other ladies rose from the grass, and filed back up the steps and into the house, chatting merrily as they went. "You skill has become equal to that of your tutor."

"In truth," Aelin chuckled, "she may have surpassed me."

"Dear Aelin," Galadriel chided. "None could surpass you, save, perhaps, your sister, Indilwen."

Aelin's smile trembled and faded a little. "My lady," she protested softly.

"Aelin, do not fear to speak of your sister, for her memory is sweet," Galadriel said. "And you will see her again, one day."

Andreth immediately dropped her eyes, remember what King Gil Galad said yesterday on the veranda, and knowing of whom Aelin spoke.

Galadriel, in silence, reached out and pressed Aelin's arm.

"I must go prepare the noon meal," Aelin said, the faintest tremor in her voice.

Andreth lifted her eyes, and smiled. Her friend offered her a brave grin, and turning away, climbing the steps after the other ladies, leaving Andreth and Galadriel alone upon the grass.

"You know why Aelin was troubled by my mention of Indilwen," Galadriel murmured softly, turning her eyes to meet the gaze of the young mortal.

"Yes, my lady," Andreth returned. "His highness, King Gil Galad told me of her yesterday when you and your lord and his highness came out to hear me play."

Galadriel nodded. "Aelin rarely speaks of her younger sister. She still feels much anger because of the kinslayings."

"No doubt I would as well, were I in her place," Andreth said sypathetically.

"It is because of the kinslayings that Aelin no longer plays the harp. She could, once."

"Because of the kinslayings?" Andreth asked. "Because of- Maglor?

Galadriel met Andreth's eyes. "Yes," she said. "Because of him."

Andreth swallowed. "I can feel, vaguely, then, why she would not wish to play it, or teach me. I would learn, though, if I could, so that I can sing as I play. I cannot sing, when I am playing the flute."

A gentle laugh escaped Galadriel's lips at this, the merry light returned to her eyes, and Andreth smiled in return.

"I have never heard you sing," Galadriel said, gripping Andreth's hand. "Will you sing me something?"

Andreth ducked her head, grinning, though she complied with the lady's request, and lifted her voice, uttering a few wordless notes that echoed the song she had only recently played on the flute.

"Marvelous," Galadriel praised as the short notes came to an end. "You sound like- the stars, could their voices be heard."

"Thank you," Andreth blushed. "Firiel always told me I sang well, but I thought it was only her duty to say so, being my guardian. But then shortly after I met him, Elros told me that I sang like an elven maid. And then I thought perhaps-,"

She stopped speaking, feeling heat rushing to her cheeks at the thought of the young elf lord.

"And young Elros is right," Galadriel observed. Andreth lifted her eyes to meet those of the wise elven lady, and Galadriel smiled gently. "There are many thing about which he is right."

"And there are many things about which Elrond is right," Andreth observed.

Galadriel inclined her head in silence. "Elrond is a wise and goodly youth," she agreed. "One whom I would gladly claim as my son. Gentle, and as kind as summer. For his heart is that of a healer. But he can be fierce as well, and protective of his own, for he is also a warrior. When he says what he does to you about elves and mortals, and the sundering of our kindreds, he does not wish to hurt you so much as he wishes, as he sees it, to protect Elros."

"I know," Andreth sighed, and turned to look out over the vast expanse of water, blue and vast, to the horizon. "And he need not fear for Elros' sake, for I have decided to give him no reason to worry."

With her eyes to the water, Andreth heard Galadriel's soft step draw near, and felt a gentle hand upon her shoulder.

"I loved my brother Aegnor," Galadriel murmured. "I still do. For he was kind and brave, and good. And he sacrificed more than I can comprehend for what he believed in. And now, he will never leave Mandos, for his beloved is gone from the circles of the world."

A stiff lump formed in Andreth's throat at the tone in the lady's voice.

"And you look so very like her, in face and form. Only your hair is different. Indeed, now as I think of it, it reminds me of the color of my brother's hair, as if you could be their daughter."

"Would that I were," Andreth choked, her eyes still fixed upon the water. "For then I would be _Peredhel_, as Elros is. But I am only mortal."

"I loved my brother," Galadriel said again, though her voice was stronger now that it was before, "but I think he was wrong."

Andreth's brows twitched. "My lady?"

She turned toward Galadriel. The elven lady now was also looking out over the water, and in her eyes, there was a flicker of fire.

"He should have wed her," Galadriel whispered. "Despite the war, despite the danger, despite the gulf between our races, he should have wed her, and shared what short years of happiness he could with her." Galadriel's voice quavered as she finished, "He should have given her children."

She turned now to Andreth, and the fire faded from her eyes replaced with a look of deepest compassion. "Do you love Elros?" she asked.

Andreth turned away, her eyes fixed upon the horizon. "Nothing has been declared between us," she answered, misery thick in her voice. "And I would have it remain that way. I would have him be free to choose his destined path without his choice clouded by his feelings for a mortal maiden."

"Then you know of the choice of Elros, and of Elrond?"

Andreth nodded, and swallowed at the thickness in her throat. "Even if his feelings for me have become strong, he can still recover, and find another, an elf maiden to love. I know that for elves, love can be strong and enduring, but it is not a chain binding your wills."

Galadriel breathed in again, and her hand came to rest upon Andreth's shoulder squeezing gently as the two woman gazed in silence over the sea.

"You are right. True love is never a _chain_. It is always a choice, whether one is an elf, or a mortal. But what of yourself?" Galadriel asked gently. "You have free will, as do all the children of the All Father. You say that elven love is strong and enduring, suggesting that perhaps mortal love often is not. Yet could you, mortal though you are, withdraw your love from him, and seek another?"

Andreth's heart twisted within her, and she crushed her eyes shut. "I do not want anyone else," she admitted at last. She swallowed fiercely. "But I would not have Elros know that. I would sooner remain unwed and childless, than to be the cause of ages of lonliness and sorrow for him. Or-" Andreth shivered at her next words, "to be the cause of his death!"

"Do not think you are saving him by not telling him your feelings," Galadriel murmured, her voice soft with infinite gentleness. "While it is true that love is a choice, there is a very real bond twined between the hearts of those who love one another. If he loved you, but you did not return his love, he would one day, if he chose, find the strength to heal, and to find another. But if you love him in return, even if Elros is not aware of the love you bear for him, your hearts are already bound."

Andreth bit her lip. "I thought the strongest bond between elves was when-" her words faltered, and she blushed.

There _is_ a bond that is formed when bodies are joined," Galadriel agreed gently, guessing rightly at what the maiden's modesty would not allow her to speak. "And according to our laws, such an act, when both are willing, cements a man and woman as husband and wife. But Andreth, such a bond is not the strongest bond between elves, or indeed of any of the children of the All Father. The bond of hröar is as nothing compared to the glorious, and joyful bond of fëar. That bond formed between two hearts that share love! You know the story of Eöl and Aredhel. Their bodies _were_ bound. They even had a son. And yet you know what became of them. And you know of your namesake and my brother. They never shared a bed; never gave life to any children. Yet their love is as eternal as the stars."

A soft sigh escaped Galadriel. "The bond of sincere love between the souls of a man and woman, of any race, is stronger than adamant and shared love alone, is enough to join hearts one to the other forever. It does not need the joining of bodies to be fixed and unbreakable. Though-" Galadriel flushed faintly and smiled, almost shyly. "Though the joining of bodies _is_ a most wonderful way to crown the bond between two souls, Andreth."

Once again Galadriel's hand gave Andreth's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"What if Elros loves you already?" Galadriel asked. "What if he too does not want to be free?"

Andreth drew in a breath, blinking swiftly, her eyes fixed upon the westermost point her eyes could reach, where the sea met the sky. Why did she wish, so much, to know what was beyond that horizon?

"There is a choice before Elros _Peredhel_," Galadriel murmured. "Either mortality, or immortality. What would become of him, do you think, if his choice is immortality, yet his heart belongs to a mortal maid? Would you have him remain alone forever, without even the memory of a life with his beloved to sustain him through the ages? Without children to comfort him?"

Andreth looked now at Galadriel and swallowed, unable to speak.

"And what if Elros' choice is _mortality_?" Galadriel pressed gently. "If it is the will of the All Father, that he take that path? Would you not desire to share it with him?"

"Mortality is not his path," Andreth said simply.

Gently, Galadriel put her hands on both the maiden's shoulders and turned Andreth to her. The mortal maiden lifted her gaze to study the elven lady's piercing blue eyes.

"Neither you nor Elrond, can know that, young Andreth. No one can, but the All Father, and Elros himself. We cannot know, until Elros himself declares his choice."

Andreth dropped her eyes. "I hear truth in your words, my lady," she murmured. "But I heard truth in Elrond's words as well."

Andreth drew in a ragged breath. "Perhaps it would be best if I went home. Back to Firiel."

"Dear Andreth," Galadriel breathed, and a moment later, Andreth's head was against the lady's shoulder, and Galadriel's arms were around her, holding her as Firiel had often done when she had been hurt or troubled by something.

"Do not think that by making some great and noble sacrifice that you are saving the one you love," the gentle elven lady murmured against her hair. "I think my brother hoped that by leaving, he would free the heart of your namesake, and she would find a mortal man to love. But she never did. Her heart was bound to his, and she died loving him, as he died loving her. They love each other, still. Yet they will be parted until the world is remade. I would not have that be your fate, or Elros'."

"I have much to think on," Andreth murmured.

"I do not doubt but that your thoughts are roiling, now," Galadriel murmured sympathetically, releasing the maiden's shoulders, and offering her a brave smile.

"Perhaps a walk alone along the shore will do me good."

"Of course," Galadriel said. "I will tell Aelin to have your noon meal waiting when you return."

Andreth smile sadly, and turned away. She moved to the stone steps that dropped down to the sand, the steps she had taken with Elros just the night before, and glanced back, once.

Galadriel stood, looking after her, her hands clasped before her, her eyes worried, but gentle, like a mother's eyes.

Andreth lifted a hand in farewell, and turned back, dropping alone down the steps toward the sand.

...oOo...

As Elros had promised, the stone path was smooth and gentle to her bare feet as Andreth moved along it, her flute in one hand, her soft slippers in her other, the hem of her gown damp from the surf that had washed her bare feet. Beneath the sunlight, the cave Elros had shown her, did not look so eathereal and otherworldly through the trees now, though it still looked splendid and mysterious where it sat in the shadows beyond the sparkling sheet of the waterfall. Especially after she ducked into the shadows of the trees, the waterfall growing clearer, no longer veiled behind so many trees.

The laughter of the water was welcoming as well, like the call of a friend as she drew near to the pool at the base of the waterfall.

Looking down into its clear depths, she could see a smooth, stony bottom, perhaps waist deep, and she smiled as she imagined a young Elros splashing and playing in it, the trees echoing with his childish laughter as he called for his brother, who waited inside, to come out and try the water.

Her head snapped up, and her smile faded into an expression of wonder as a sound, soft and sweet, but not the music of the waterfall, came wafting out through the mouth of the cave and the clear sheet of water.

Andreth's eyes grew round, recognizing the sweet notes of a harp. Who else in Mithlond knew of this cave? Turning away from the pool, she hurried along the path that edged the wall of rock, and behind the waterfall, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the shadows.

"Forgive me," she called, her eyes still struggling to see, though now she could make out the form of a man, his long hair hanging loose about his shoulders.

The music stopped.

"We are well met, mortal maiden," a deep, even voice called out.

Andreth smiled as the man's features became clear, at last. The man sat upon the rough hewn chair she had seen vaguely in the darkness the night before, and beside him, one arm rested upon the small wooden table. The lines of his face were strong, but gentle, and his eyes were welcoming. His garb, deep blue but for a pattern in the center of his jerkin that seemed to be a bright star over his chest, was of fine cloth, but worn, for the hem of his tunic and the edges of his sleeves were ragged. His dark hair, though, was smooth and it gleamed, falling gracefully about his shoulders as he rose to his feet.

Behind him, the rest of the cave was more visible now in the daylight. It went a fair distance back, the walls and ceiling of ragged rock. But her attention moved quickly back to the elven man.

"I did not know any mortals knew of this cave," he said as their eyes met at last.

He offered her a bow as graceful and courtly as if she were a regal princess. And as she returned his bow with a gracious curtsy, in the manner that Galadriel and Aelin had taught her, she noted the harp he had been playing, where it rested now upon the table beside him. A fine, graceful instrument.

Her fingers itched to touch the strings, to make soft, fair music come from it as the man had been doing only moments before. She studied it with wide, eager eyes before she lifted her eyes to his face again.

"I am Andreth daughter of Beldir of the house of Bëor, I am a ward of Lord Círdan."

The man smiled in recognition of the name and nodded. "The Shipwright. He is well?"

"He is."

"He showed you this cave, then, I suppose?"

"No, sir, my- my friend, Elros did."

The man took a step forward, his eyes brightening. "Elros? Elros, the second son of Eärendil? Truly?"

"Yes, sir," she returned, somewhat taken aback by the man's sudden eagerness at her mention of Elros' name.

"And his elder brother?"

"Elrond?" she asked. "Yes. I know them both."

"They are well?" the man asked eagerly, stepping forward again.

"Yes, they are, sir. Do you know them?"

"Yes, I-," His smile softened. "Yes, I knew them, once. Long ago."

"And your name, sir?"

"I am-" the elven man faltered. "You may call me- Linnod."

"I am honored to meet you, Master Linnod." Andreth said. Her eyes again fell to his harp. "You play the harp, sir? I heard you playing from outside."

The elven man glanced down at his instrument, and smiled, before glancing to the flute in her hand. "And you play the flute."

"Yes sir, I do. And I would learn to play the harp also, if I could."

To this, the elven man grinned broadly, his eyes dancing. "You wish to learn to play the harp?"

Andreth smiled, for somehow, she knew she could trust him, and had no need to be afraid. "Would you teach me?"

The man's grin faltered. "I- I am a bit of a wanderer. I do not stay in one place long-"

Andreth clasped her hands, and stepped toward him. "Please, Master Linnod, I am a quick learner. Even if you cannot stay in Mithlond long, will you teach me what you can, while you are here? I promise, you will be compensated very generously for your time and skill."

The man looked at the ground, and his free hand tugged nervously at the ragged hem of his other sleeve in a gesture of uncertainty. At last though, he looked up, and smiled.

"I can give you five days," he said. "One, perhaps two hours, each day."

Andreth beamed. "Thank you, sir!" She drew in a deep breath. "Where in Mithlond are you staying? I can come to your house, or you can come to Lord Círdan's house. Do you have kindred here?"

The man's eyes dropped suddenly as if at something she said. "I have no kindred left on these shores," he said softly, almost under his breath. Rallying, he lifted his voice. "It would be easiest to meet here, every day. I do not- I prefer not to be in large cities. The woods and wilderness are more suited to me."

"Very well," Andreth agreed. "Can we begin now?"

The elven man grinned again, and lifted his harp, offering it to her. "Of course, Lady Andreth," he said, and he smiled as she took the weight of the smooth, cool instrument into her own hands.

...oOo...

Elros lay quietly in his bedroll, his fingers laced behind his head, studying the stars above him, and watching the way the campfire cast orange light and mottled dancing shadows off the trees about them.

_Andreth_, his mind whispered, and her face appeared before his thoughts. _Tindómiel- where are you, tonight, and what are you doing? Are you thinking of me at all, fair one? What would you feel in your heart, were you to know that I was thinking of you?_

Not far away, Círdan also lay in his own bedroll, his own eyes fixed upon the stars above them.

Beside the flickering fire, Hathel's two companions were talking softly. Hathel himself, sat apart from them, seated upon his own bedroll, though he had not crawled in it, yet.

The swarthy one, the one Hathel had introduced as Lang, and Sigil, the sandy haired one. Sigil seemed a bit foolish and slow, though he seemed to have a good enough heart. Lang, on the other hand, had a streak of meanness that ran through him, showing itself now and then, in his speech and his looks. And, as Elros thought on it, Lang had a look about him that made Elros nervous. Not anything he could contain and define, but something vague that sent a shadow of uncertainty through him. He and Sigil were talking now, and Elros lay quietly, listening.

"_How can they sleep that way_?" Sigil was muttering. "_Don't they get dust in their eyes_?"

"_Fool_," Lang scoffed. "_They're not like us. They're like snakes."_

"_They don't hafta blink_?"

"Of course we must blink," Círdan mumbled softly. "Just as you do. We simply do not need to close our eyes to dream. In truth my young friends, whatever you do, we do also. We are not gods, or marble statues. Or- snakes."

Elros grinned as the two men shifted uncomfortably at this.

"Er," Sigil queried nervously, "Everything? Even snore?"

"Sometimes," Círdan murmured.

"Even-"

"He said _everything_, Sigil. Except falling prey to sickness, or whithering, and dying of old age." These words came from Hathel where he sat. His words sounded weary, and for a moment, Elros felt a stab of pity for the mortal.

"Yes," Círdan conceded sleepily. "Except that. We can be killed in war, or by mischance."

The others fell silent for a while, until Lang and Sigil again started to whisper, and Círdan's breathing deepened to show that he truly was asleep.

"You're not asleep, are you?"

It took a moment for Elros to realize Hathel had addressed him, and he pulled his eyes from the stars to fix them upon the young mortal.

"Not yet," he said.

"You're thinking of- her, aren't you?"

Elros drew in a breath. He did not need to ask Hathel what he meant.

"My thoughts are my own, Master Hathel," he murmured.

"You should not entertain thoughts of her," Hathel muttered. "She belongs with her own race. It would not be seemly for a mortal and an elf to wed."

Elros sighed, wishing Hathel would look away, but the young mortal did not, sitting stiffly upon his bedroll, his eyes fixed unblinking upon Elros, waiting for a reply.

"My ancestors would disagree with you," he answered.

Hathel snorted at this, and looked away.

"She wears my flower almost every day in her hair," the young mortal muttered.

"_Your_ flower?" Elros asked.

Hathel looked back at Elros, his eyes hard at Elros' casual tone. "The day we met, I gave her a flower. One of the silver ones, the ones that glow at night. Almost everyday I have come to teach her of various weapons, she has worn one in her hair for me."

"Tindómiel they are called," Elros said, struggling not to smile at the youth's impertinence. It was more likely that Andreth had worn one of the flowers _he_ had left outside her door after her first night in Círdan's house, rather than the single one Hathel had given her. And she wore the flower for its beauty, not for any man.

Heaving a breath, Elros turned his eyes skyward once again.

"Are you in love with her, Lord Elros?"

Elros' eyes snapped back to Hathel's. "Are you?" he returned.

Hathel narrowed his eyes. "She belongs with her people, my lord," he snapped, his voice low and hard. "She deserves a husband who is of her own race, who will grow old with her, whose hand in her own will not remain strong and unbent as hers whithers and weakens."

"Andreth deserves," Elros sighed, "a husband who will love her, truly."

Hathel swallowed audibly, his jaw taut. "I love Andreth," he said.

"Then," Elros said, fighting the pang in his heart as he spoke his next words, "if she loves you in return, my blessings and good wishes to you both."

He turned his eyes skyward once again, wishing for nothing else but to lose himself in his dreams.

"You didn't answer my question, my lord," Hathel said.

Elros heaved a breath which caught in his chest as it escaped. "And you answered mine," he conceded. "Yes, my lord, Hathel, I love Andreth. Enough, in truth, to do all that I can for her happiness, even if I of myself, cannot share in it."

Hathel did not answer this. A moment later the rustle of cloth told Elros that Hathel was clambering into his own bedroll. The mortal shifted, turning his back to Elros, and then only the soft crackle of the fire echoed in their circle of trees. Sigil began to snore.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

"_Ai, dear Valar, why do you torment me like this? She looks as beautiful asleep as awake_-"

Andreth opened her eyes at the softly murmured voice where she lay upon the soft grass in her dreamscape, fixing first upon the stars above her before she lowered her gaze to her dream prince, the form of Elros, where he settled down cross legged on the grass a few paces away, and smiled at her.

He chuckled. "Forgive me, dream maiden. It is difficult to tell- Just as the mortal maid whose image you take, I supposed you sleep with your eyes closed. So intriguing-" his voice softened, "so lovely a thing- But you are awake."

"But I _am_ asleep. I am always asleep here," she said with a smile. Her dream of Elros grinned.

"Because of course, it is _your_ dream," he chuckled, plucking a blade of grass and studying it before putting the end in his mouth, and chewing thoughtfully.

Andreth drew in a sigh, and sat up, the cloth of her gown rustling as she did. Her dream prince watched her rise, his gaze warm.

"I am glad to see you here," he murmured, easing close enough to reach out and touch her hand. His fingers were warm against hers, and Andreth smiled. He leaned nearer as if he wished to draw closer to her, though he did not. "I left very quickly this morning. I did not have the chance to say farewell to Andreth herself."

He drew in a breath that swelled in his chest. "Though I do not know what I would say to her, now that I know my heart. I am new to love. I do not know how-"

He swallowed fiercely, and fell silent. Andreth dropped her eyes, blushing at his words.

"But I do know what my choice must be, now," he said, and his jaw tightened with determination as he lifted his eyes to the sky. "What the will of the All Father is for me. Has always been."

At these words, Andreth lifted her head again, fixing her eyes upon her dream prince.

"Your- choice?" she asked. "You speak of the choice you have been given- between mortality and immortality?"

"Yes," he murmured.

"You have spoken of this before," she said, feeling her breath coming more slowly. "In these dreams."

"I have," he said again, still with his eyes fixed upon the sky. "But not until yesterday did I realize the path for which I was destined. And I am glad that I know. I would not wish to choose immortality now, when it would part me from you," he heaved a ragged breath, "-from Andreth Tindómiel."

"Oh," she murmured, realizing that he was right. He_ had_ spoken of his choice before, now that she realized it, but she had not understood what he was speaking of, thinking it was only the nonsense of her dreams. But now that Elrond had told her of the choice of the _Peredhil_, the former words of this dream prince made sense. How could she have known of it before, enough to dream of it?

A quiver moved through her, and she turned half away from her dream of Elros, glancing askance to look at him. His eyes were still fixed upon the sky, though his hand still clasped her own, warm and strong.

"Elros?" she asked, and he lowered his eyes to her and smiled.

"What is it?" he murmured.

"Tell-," her word caught in her throat and she turned back fully to face him, feeling suddenly earnest. "Tell me something that I- that Andreth could not know. Something you know, but that I- that she does not."

"Oh," he brightened, and squeezed her fingers. He leaned nearer in an attitude as of one wishing to share a secret he feared overheard.

Andreth's heart throbbed painfully even as a smile touched her lips, for the two of them were alone in this vast, open, land of dreams.

But the playful aspect on his face softened into a somber, almost worshipful expression as his eyes drank in her face.

"I am having a gift made for her," he murmured. "The necklace you are wearing-"

His eyes lowered to the gleaming necklace that hung around her neck, the smooth white pearl resting against the soft flesh above the scooped neck of her gown. Elros lifted a hand, and touched a finger to the pearl. Andreth could feel the impress of the pearl beneath his fingertip, the warmth of his hand, but his finger did not itself touch her skin. Andreth shivered deliciously, and Elros' breath visibly quickened, clearly affected as well by the nearness of her soft flesh.

"I am having a jewelsmith in Mithlond fashion it for her, into a necklace that looks just as that one does," he murmured, slowly withdrawing his hand, and lifting his eyes to hers. "And I mean to give it to her the moment I return. Before the Harvest Festival is over, I hope."

Andreth swallowed stiffly. Slowly, she withdrew her hand from his, and turned away, fixing her eyes away over the dream ocean and to the distant eastern horizon.

"What is wrong?" he murmured, the grass whispering as he eased nearer.

She could feel his warm breath against the back of her shoulder. _How very much she wished to lean back, to feel his warm, solid chest against her back, his hands, gentle yet powerful also, cupping her shoulders, running tenderly along her arms, his lips whispering the soft secrets of lovers into her ear_-

"I don't know," she returned. "There may be nothing wrong-"

Andreth swallowed back a thick tightening of emotion in her throat, before she turned to him again, seeking his soft grey eyes in the cool blue shadows surrounding them.

"Elros," she pleaded, lifting a hand, and reaching out, wishing to touch his face. _So very much she longed to press her hand to his jaw, to feel the warm, firm skin, to trace the lines of his face, to run her fingers gently up to the peaked tip of his ear, before losing them in his dark hair. To lean into him, to feel the strength of his arms wrap about her, and pull her to him, to feel his perfect, sculpted lips claim her own as she lay back with him against the soft grass-_

Andreth did not move, nor did Elros, his eyes fixed upon hers, soft, and warm, and filled with undisguised longing.

"You have never tried to kissed me here," she breathed.

To this, Elros seemed to come to himself again, and he shook himself, easing back a space, and gently drawing back his hand. "And I shall never kiss you, fair though you are, dream maiden," he said, looking away. "I will save myself for the true Andreth. And if she does not love me, then I will never-"

"Then you will heal, in time, and find another woman, an elf maiden to love," she said quickly, dropping her hand to grip his where it rested upon the grass between them.

Elros' eyes turned back to her, his gaze soft as he shook his head. "I do not want any other," he breathed, gently squeezing her hand. "Only Andreth. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever known, or will ever know. Her heart is kind, and her mind is quick and wise. Her soul is as pure as the stars, and as beautiful as her outward form. When I look upon her, I see beauty and nobility, and I know in my heart that she has a magnificent part to play in the Great Song of Eru. I yearn for her to want me as I want her. I long for her to be the mother of my children. I care not that she is mortal. Indeed, I would not wish for her to be an elf maid, for her mortality is part of her very essence, and makes her all the more precious in my eyes. I know, even now, that I will never see another woman, elven or mortal, as I see my beautiful Tindómiel, fairest of all the daughters of Eru Ilúvatar."

"Elros, stop," she pleaded. "Your words are- too beautiful. Do not speak that way-"

"What way would you have me speak?" he pleaded, furrowing his brow. "My heart is _hers_! With all that I am, with all that I ever will be, I love Andreth! I will never want another."

Andreth fell silent, and she dropped her eyes to their joined hands.

"I-" she sighed at last, lifting her eyes to his. "I hope you are wrong." She lowered her voice. "_I hope I am wrong_."

"I do not," he said softly.

The two sat in silence for a long moment before he gently squeezed her hand, and said, "Come. No doubt this is all because my heart is so raw and so open. I think we both need a reason to smile. Walk with me along the shore."

He rose to his feet, and turned to her, galantly offering her his hand. "Please," he pleaded. "You cannot know how badly I need to see your smile."

At this, Andreth did manage a smile, and she lifted her hand, placing it in his, and let him draw her gently to her feet.

...oOo...

"This is the stone," Hathel said, his hand giving an expansive sweep to the walls of the granite cliff that curved about their small group as if they stood within an amphitheatre. "I think it is of the right color and quality, and I believe there is enough here, to finish the north light house."

"Hmm," Círdan murmured in an agreeable tone. He stepped forward to the rock face near at hand, and touched his fingers to the stone, running his thumb over the grey surface, testing the feel of the granite.

Morning sounds echoed through the woods around their group where Elros stood back, silent beside the heads of the horses, a short distance from Sigil and Lang, as Círdan and Hathel continued speaking. He knew very little about the quality of one kind of stone over another, but Círdan seemed pleased by this tall curving wall of exposed granite.

"_Looks like a load of work we're gonna do_," Sigil muttered softly, his eyes uplifted.

"_Hrm_," Lang muttered in agreement. "_Pity my cousin Lhûg never come. He said he would get here 'bout the same time I did. 'Bout three months ago. Never arrived. Strong as an ox, Lhûg was." _Lang chuckled darkly. "_Maybe better he didn't come. He wouldn't like this city, will all its elves. Hates elves more'n anything, them and their high ways. Drives 'im crazy. Not that I could blame 'im. I'm 'bout crazy myself. City filled with beautiful women, but no brothel to speak of-_"

"Lang!" Hathel shouted before Elros could even turn to look at Lang. In the amphitheatre of stone, the young mortal's voice echoed like the summons of a Vala, and the swarthy mortal jerked and straightened, his eyes going suddenly wide.

"Whot?" Lang demanded, his eyes narrowing darkly now that his initial fear was passed.

"Watch your tongue!" Hathel shot back.

"'Er whot?" Lang demanded.

"Or you can go now, with only half your pay, never to show your face in the Grey Havens again," Hathel shot back. "Though that should be little sacrifice to you, if you hate it, and its inhabitants so badly. I'll not tolerate any disrespectful talk as long as you're under my employ."

Lang scowled at the young mortal, who could not have been less than ten years his junior, but said nothing. Sigil's mouth formed a small circle, and the sandy haired mortal side stepped away from Lang, nearer to Elros.

Elros turned and met Sigil's eyes, and the sandy haired mortal shrugged and grinned weakly, apologetically. But as Elros met Lang's eyes beyond Sigil's shoulder, the swarthy mortal only scowled darkly, his thick fists clenched at his sides. There was no apology in his face. Lang rolled his thick shoulders as if preparing for a fight, and glared at Elros.

Had he not spoken so, Elros would not have thought the mortal's glaring eyes worth the challenge, and would have looked away. But now, Elros continued to meet the scowling mortal's eyes with an even gaze.

Lang narrowed his eyes, and lifted one corner of his thick mouth in a half snarl. And then, Elros realized why the mortal caused such a nervous stirring within him. It was not only his rough ways. It was also in his- his eyes.

Elros' mind flashed back to months before, to the day he had first encountered Andreth, when he had darted into the clearing and saw the unthinkable, and had reacted, tearing the maiden's attacker off of her, and flinging him across the clearing. Before he had drawn his knife and attacked, the man had snarled, just as Lang did now.

Elros had met the eyes of the man only for a brief moment before his sword sank into the mortal's neck. But he remembered the eyes. They were just like Lang's.

He broke Lang's gaze at last, and shot a glanced toward Círdan, who met his eyes with a steady gaze almost as if he guessed what the young elf was thinking.

Elros studied the elven lord's gaze. Círdan, Gil Galad, Oropher and a few others knew of what had passed that day, what had nearly happened to Andreth, and what Elros had been forced to do, to defend her honor. The identity of her attacker had been a mystery. He was a complete stranger. He had never been in the city, nor was he from any of the settlements of mortals. None knew who he was. None, it had once seemed, would ever know. But-

Elros turned back to Lang who had dropped his eyes, and was glaring now, at the ground.

"Were you close to your cousin, Master Lang?"

Lang's eyes jerked up, and narrowed.

"Whot? Why d'you want to know, _elf_?" Spittle flew from his mouth at the last word.

"The cousin you spoke of. Lhûg. Were you close?"

Lang's eyes narrowed further. "Why?" he drawled slowly.

Elros drew in a deep breath. Rough as this man was, he was the man's kindred, and deserved to know.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Círdan striding nearer. By his posture, he could tell the shipwright was concerned. He turned back to Lang.

"There is something you must know about your cousin."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Linnod sat against the wall of the cave, his knees bent close to his chest and his eyes closed as he listened to the soft music Andreth was bringing forth from the harp she was playing where she sat upon the wooden seat near the opposite wall from the elven man. Linnod's elbow rested on one knee, his fist beneath his chin while his other hand moved rhythmically through the air, keeping time with the notes.

In the background, the ceaseless laughter of the waterfall acompanied her music, and though Andreth knew she was nearing the end of her practice with the gentle elf, she did not wish to leave. If she had her will, she would stay here all day, and she would more than simply practice the harp with the kindly Linnod, she would ask him questions.

For though he, like all other elves, appeared young, she could see in his eyes many centuries, and guessed that he was very old. And though something about him told her implicity that she could trust him, still she knew very little about him, and had so many questions. Where was he from? Where did he go when he was not here, teaching her to play the harp? Where were his kindred? Why were his clothes so fine, yet so ragged at the edges? Why was he so willing to play the harp, yet when she asked him what he knew of weapons, he grew reluctant to speak? And why did he insist on taking no payment?

Her many questions swirled in her mind, unable to find release, and with a sigh, Andreth let the music of the harp fall silent, the water fall now the only music that echoed in the little cave.

"One would not know you have only been practicing for five days, young one," Linnod said, opening his eyes. "You were not deceiving me when you said you were a quick learner. That was very good."

Andreth smile at the praise.

"Are you married, my lord?"

"Why do you ask?" Linnod grinned. "Are you proposing, Lady Andreth?"

Andreth stared at him, and at the teasing twinkle in his eyes, before she threw her head back, and laughed merrily.

"Oh bless me, no!" Andreth gasped, barely able to speak the words through her laughter. "I only wondered."

"Good," Linnod said. "Then I shall not fear to break your tender heart, for indeed, I_ am _married."

Andreth met his eyes again, and though he still smiled, the sparkle in his eyes had eased.

"Where is she, then?" Andreth asked. "Is she staying with you in- in Mithlond? And your children? What is her-"

Linnod dropped his eyes, and drew in a deep breath.

The humor was gone from his eyes, and Andreth stilled, realizing that perhaps she had strayed into questions that caused him pain.

"She is- gone away," he said simply. "And we had no children."

Andreth paused. Slain, perhaps, like Aelin's sister, or sailed into the west, seeking the comfort of the Undying Lands. It was not something she should ask about, in either case.

"I am sorry," she murmured.

Linnod looked up, and smiled sadly. "Thank you," he said. "It is probably for the best."

Best that she is gone, or best that they had no children?

Andreth wondered. Though she did not ask any more, sensing it would only cause him more pain.

"Master Linnod," she offered hastily, and his brows lifted at the hopeful tone in her voice. "The Harvest Festival is in two days. Will you be there?"

Linnod's face fell at this. "I do not think so. I do not often stay in one place very long. In truth, I have stayed here far longer than I meant."

"You have stayed this long, just for me," she said.

Linnod nodded. "Though I assure you, it has not been a sacrifice. I have enjoyed teaching you a skill that is dear to me. And I have enjoyed your acquaintance. I have known few of the Second Born, and if others of your people are like you, then I have great hope for your race. I do not doubt but that I will meet more of your kindred as the years pass. I hope they are like you."

"I still have so much to learn-"

"But you have already learned so much, that now, even without a teacher, you will progress. I am confident of that."

Andreth swallowed. "Then you will leave-"

"The day after tomorrow should be our last meeting."

Andreth dropped her eyes.

"You are sad because of my going, my lady?" Linnod's voice sounded sad, but there was also a tone of gratitude in it, as well. Linnod, she guessed, had few friends. Though she could not say why, except for his penchant to dwell alone in the woods, as she guessed he did. It seemed a strange thing, but then Oropher and his son and their people preferred to live in the forests and woods. Perhaps this elven man was as they were.

Andreth sighed. "I do not know you well," she said. "But you seem kind and honorable, and I have come to think of you as a friend. I will miss you when you go."

Linnod swallowed stiffly at this and his eyes gleamed. "I too, have come to see you as a friend, young Andreth," he said. "In truth the first friend I have had in many a year. And to know that you have as friends the half elven brothers who are Elrond and Elros, it is a double blessing. For you know them now as men, while I only-"

Linnod looked out the mouth of the cave, studying with a critical eye, the shadows of sunlight where they fell.

"You must go soon, yes?" he asked, quickly changing his words.

"Yes, for my lessons with Elrond in healing and herbs. Today he is taking me down into Mithlond to look in on a little mortal girl, a child of one of the mortal stone masons. She has one of those maladies that often afflict my race. She was unable to keep food down, and her mother grew anxious. But Elrond has been to see her, and she is doing better now."

Linnod smiled. "I am pleased to know he has come so far. A skillful healer, and a brave warrior. He has done well."

"As has Elros," she murmured.

Linnod's brows lifted, and Andreth felt herself blushing. She had not meant to sound so whistful.

"Elros has gone away for a few days, you said?" Linnod asked softly.

"Yes," she said. "He has gone with Lord Círdan to cut stone from a new quarry."

"Do you miss him?"

Andreth dropped her eyes, hearing more in the question than the words. "He has been gone but a few days, and should be gone but a few days more."

Linnod heaved a breath. "I should not keep you from your lesson with Elrond. But before you go," Linnod held out a hand to stay her as Andreth began to rise, "Play that song one last time, and this time, sing as you play."

Andreth furrowed her brow. "I have not yet tried to sing and play at the same time. I fear I will make mistakes."

"Do not fear to make mistakes," Linnod urged. "Fear, rather, not trying at all, my lady. Let yourself be one with the music, feel the light inside of your heart, and give it voice, with your fingers, and your lips."

Andreth nodded, and drew in a breath, lifting her fingers to the strings. She began to move her fingers over the strings, and as Linnod had instructed, felt for the warmth, the light inside of her that she had felt whenever she had sung before, and opened her mouth, letting it come forth in harmony with the music of her fingers. Her song was wordless but sweet as it wove through the notes from the harp in her hands. And though she did slip here and there on some of the strings as she had feared, still the song was fair and lovely, and gaining confidence, she lifted her voice higher.

For a moment, only silence came from Linnod, until a warm, deep timbre rose from his throat, rising like a warm sun over a distant hill, wordless like her own voice, though it seemed to speak without words, of peace and beauty as it wove in a perfect harmony with her own voice, and the soft notes of the harp.

Andreth looked at him, though she did not cease to sing, and smiled at Linnod whose eyes studied hers with the deep, heartbreaking gratitude of one who had not known joy for many years, and was only now remembering it.

The notes stilled, as did her voice, and his.

In the stillness, Linnod asked a question which trembled painfully in Andreth's heart. "You care for Elros, don't you? As more than a sister would."

Andreth looked away. How was it that so many could see what she struggled so much to hide, and to deny herself? Elrond, Galadriel, and now Linnod, a complete stranger.

"I am mortal, he is elf-kind," she said, without looking at Linnod.

"I know that," Linnod said with gentle air of a patient father. "That is not what I asked. What I wished to know, is do you love him?"

Andreth pursed her lips, without looking at the elven man. "It does not matter, for I cannot have him," she said, and turned away. "I must go now." She slipped out of the cave.

"Andreth," Linnod's voice called from behind her. But she did not look back as she moved past the waterfall and into the daylight without looking back. And Linnod did not follow.

...oOo...

The interior of the house was small, but clean and cheefully furnished with a rough hewn table, and several chairs about it. A small doll's cradle in the corner contained its resting occupant, the doll's stitched face, ever smiling and patient, awaiting the recovery of her caretaker whom Elrond bent over, his large hand gentle as it touched the little mortal girl's head.

The child looked up at him with weary but happy eyes, her yellow hair splayed out about her upon the pillow.

The child's mother, a round faced young woman of a few years older than Andreth herself, hovered nearby, her hands clasped, as she anxiously awaited Elrond's assessment.

"You are looking better, my little Wilwarin," he said to the little girl, his voice warm. "Your color is coming back nicely. Of course, you are always pretty."

"Thank you, Master Elrond," Wilwarin said, her eyes moving past him to Andreth where she stood behind the elf lord.

Andreth smiled, and the little girl returned it, but only tentatively.

"Who are you?" she asked. "I've not seen you here with Master Elrond before."

"This is Lady Andreth," Elrond introduced.

The little girl's brows puckered. "Oh," she said, and a hint of hurt gleamed in her eyes. "Are you his _sweetheart_?"

Elrond chuckled, as did Andreth and the child's mother. The little mortal was clearly smitten with the elven lord and loathed the idea of any competition for his attention.

"No," Andreth said. "We are only friends. He is teaching me to be a healer, as well. He is a good teacher."

"Master Elrond is good at everything," Wilwarin declared loyally.

"Not everything," Elrond said with a chuckle as he gave the little girl's hand a squeeze. "I don't think I'd look as pretty in a dress as you do."

To this, the child threw back her head, and laughed gleefully. "You don't wear dresses, Master Elrond!" she cried.

"Ah, there it is!" he exclaimed.

Her smile fell. "There is what?"

"Oh," Elrond sighed. "It went away again."

"What went away?" Wilwarin demanded.

"Your smile," Elrond sighed. "You have such a pretty smile. I wish I could see it."

Immediately, Wilwarin grinned broadly.

"There," he said warmly. "There's that pretty smile I know so well."

Elrond squeezed her hand again, and lifted his eyes to meet her mother's.

"You've been feeding her the tea I perscribed, Mistress Nell?"

"Yes, m'lord," the young woman said. "And a bit of warm broth as you said. Today I started feeding her bits of toasted bread."

"And she's kept them all down?"

"Yes, m'lord."

"Good," Elrond rose to his feet with a sigh. "Andreth will give you a bit more tea that will last for a few days. By then, the sickness that took her stomach should be gone, and she will be as good as before."

At his word, Andreth reached down into the pouch that hung over one shoulder, resting against her hip, and withdrew the dried packet of tea that would sooth the little girl's stomach.

"Thank you, my lady, my lord," Nell said, her eyes swimming as she accepted the packet of tea from Andreth. She turned and moved to the table where a leather pouch lay. "I wish that you would-,"

"We need no payment," Elrond said, shaking his head.

Nell sighed, and let the flap of the pouch fall shut. "You will take nothing?"

Elrond grinned back toward the little figure on the bed. "Perhaps one more smile from my little butterfly, and a promise that she will get well," he said, to which Wilwarin grinned in return.

"I will," she promised.

"That is all I need, then," Elrond said. "Good day to you, ladies," he said with a nod of his head, and turned to the door, Andreth following.

She traded a smile with the girl's mother as Nell opened the door for them, and the two stepped out into the light of the day. Several streets below them, the river Lhûn glittered beneath the sunlight.

"I must be to the lighthouse now," Elrond said, nodding toward the far rise of stone where the rising lighthouse stood against the sky, webs of scaffolding surrounding it, and men both mortal and elven moving about.

"Ai, your work is never done, Elrond," Andreth said, sympathetically.

"Neither is yours," Elrond said with a smile.

"Ah, but with Elros and Hathel gone, I have more leisure time. You don't."

"No doubt you use the time for more studying," he said with a grin.

Andreth smiled. "I've been learning to play the harp, Elrond," she said. "From a man named Linnod. He is not from Mithlond. But he says he knows you. Or did, once. His skill with the harp is very good. I've been learning quickly."

Elrond's eyes grew immediately concerned. "I know no one by that name. I never have. Much less one who could play the harp. Where does he give you your lessons?"

He cast his eyes about, as if expecting her to point to some spot in the city.

Andreth sighed. Elrond had suddenly taken on the air of a protective brother, and though his question slightly irritated her, at the same time she felt warmed by his concern. It served to remind her that though he was opposed to her feelings for his brother, he had not ceased to appreciate her as a friend. That thought was comforting.

"At the cave in the arm of the forest that comes down near to the sea. The cave where Maglor and Maedhros left you to be found, when you were young."

"Oh?" Now the worry in Elrond's eyes had grown into an obvious and fierce protectiveness. He turned fully to Andreth now. He reached out with one hand, and clasped her shoulder. "Why doesn't he come to Círdan's house to give you lessons? What sort of man is he? Do you even know? How long have you known him?" One brow raised as his eyes shot out sparks.

"Elrond!" Andreth protested, heaving a sigh. "He has done nothing untoward, and I have known him nearly a week. He is an elf who-"

"So was Eöl," Elrond cut in.

"But he is a good man," Andreth protested. "I can see it in his eyes."

Elrond pursed his lips, clearly unconvinced.

"He says he knows you," Andreth continued. "Come with me tomorrow, and see him for yourself."

Elrond nodded. "I will do that," he said. A grin touched his lips. "But if there is anything about him I do not like, Andreth, do not be surprised if I pitch him head forward through the waterfall."

With that, he offered her a final grin, then turned trotted away in the direction of the unfinished light house.

Andreth chuckled softly, shook her head, then turned her feet in the opposite direction.

...oOo...

"Ah my lady, that is magificent," Aelin cooed, studying the hanging tapestry that reached well above their heads, where it hung now on the wall, illuminated by the bright light of midday as it shone through the windows.

Galadriel smiled at Aelin's praise as she too studied the tapestry, dark blue, but for the bright star in the sky, beneath which stood two elven men, their faces clearly showing them to be the brothers Elrond and Elros.

The two women stood in the weaving room of Círdan's house, a bright, airy chamber filled often with the clatter of a loom, or the happy chatter of women, and music, and the merry sound of tapping feet, or swirling skirts as they danced in the middle of the room if they felt inclined, while one played the flute, and other kept time with a tamborine, without fear of an audience, for men were not allowed in here.

"It is Andreth's work," Galadriel said.

"It is marvelous," Aelin breathed, coming forward to touch a hand to the tapestry. "So lifelike as if they could simply step out of the tapestry."

Galadriel nodded in silent agreement. She wondered if Aelin noted, as she had only now that it was complete, that Elros' image stood a little nearer than his brother's, and looked directly out of the tapestry while Elrond's image, though as fair and detailed as his brother's, did not. Perhaps Andreth had not intended to do it, but now Galadriel could see what she had done. An observant study of the tapestry would reveal that the weaver slightly favored the younger of Eärendil's sons. And from what Galadriel had surmised by her visit with the mortal maiden, Andreth's feelings were greater than even this tapestry hinted.

"Would you like to see her newest work, Aelin?" Galadriel asked. "She only started it a few days ago."

"Please, my lady," her friend urged turning from the tapestry of the elven lords. "Show it to me."

"Oh, it will please you, Aelin," Galadriel promised as she led the younger elven woman toward the loom on which the mortal maiden's new tapestry was taking shape. At the top of the loom, the background had begun, a forest scene of green trees and vines, and the face of a young elven woman with long silver hair was becoming visible.

"Lovely," Aelin commented as she stopped before Andreth's loom and studied the face. "Who is she?"

"I do not know," Galadriel said. "She says it is from a picture that Lord Elrond drew, and showed to her."

Aelin looked from the face of the maiden on the cloth to Galadriel and back again. "My lady, the maiden looks somewhat like you," she observed. "As if she could be kindred. A daughter, perhaps."

"Indeed," Galadriel said thoughtfully, bending her head to the side, and observing the maiden forming upon the cloth. "I suppose you are right. She has my lord's eyes, as well, now that you speak on it. And the color of her hair is as his."

Galadriel's eyes grew soft and thoughtful. And a moment later, she smiled.

"Ah, my lady, what is this?"

Aelin's tone of voice had changed, and Galadriel's smile fell at the distress in her voice.

Half hidden behind the threads of the loom, sat a finely carved harp.

"It is Andreth's," Galadriel said. "She had it in her hands when she returned this morning."

"From where?"

"Down beside the sea," Galadriel returned, keeping her voice soft though Aelin's tone had grown distressed. "She spends her mornings down there now that Lord Elros has gone for a few days."

"And she returned with a harp, my lady?" Aelin said. "Is there a musician's shop down beside the seashore?"

"Aelin, do not distress yourself," Galadriel soothed. "It is only a harp, and no harm has befallen Andreth. She said it was a friend's, and she means to return it, but she had to hurry away with Elrond."

"It looks like- _his_," Aelin fairly hissed the last word.

Galadriel reached for Aelin's hand, and gently squeezed. "There are many harps, Aelin. It is not likely that it could be Maglor's. Come, my friend. You rarely have time to rest. Let us have some tea together, and talk of pleasant things. Andreth should be home soon."

With an expression of reluctant obedience, Aelin nodded. She followed as Galadriel turned away from the loom, but she glanced back over her shoulder at the harp that sat half hidden behind the weft threads as if it were a naughty child hiding from a scolding.

She dropped her eyes, then turned and followed after Galadriel.

...oOo...

Andreth's eyes stayed down as she walked up the sloping street toward the western gate. Círdan's house rose above the wall at the crest of the hill, a sight that had become almost as dear as Firiel's little hut still was in her thoughts.

She had much to do today, including returning Linnod's harp. She felt silly for having accidentally left with it. She had not meant to, but had felt so distressed from his question about Elros, that she had forgotten to set it down. She hoped he would not be too sorrowful without it, for the few hours he would be parted from it.

Her eyes were down, fixed upon a square of parment in her hand. A letter from Firiel, though written in the hand of Baran, her neighbor, who must have written Firiel's words as she spoke them.

"_I am staying, for now, with Baran and his good family_," she could almost hear Firiel's voice say, "_for his goodwife, Lómë, has fallen ill. I have brought Lavaniel with me, so she is cared for, and have come to help Baran with his three little ones. I miss you, but am so very proud of you. I do not doubt you are learning much, and have become quite a fine lady in Círdan's house. Give good Lord Círdan my greetings, and give my greetings also to Lords Elros and Elrond whom I know I can never repay for what they did for you._

"_All my love_,"

And here, in a hand like a child's, Firiel had written her own name, "_Firiel_."

Andreth smiled, and pressed a kiss to the parchment as she walked, but a moment later, her smile fell as running footsteps, sounded from behind, and a man's voice.

"Please, my lady," a man's voice pled. "For the love of all that is good-"

Andreth spun about to see a disheveled man, a young mortal who staggered to a stop, bent nearly double, his trembling arms braced against his knees.

She recognized him vaguely. He was a stonecutter as Hathel was. Sweat stained his tunic, and his chest heaved. His dark hair was plastered against his head, damp with sweat. He had clearly been running for some time.

His eyes fell to the bag about her shoulder, and he staggered forward.

"My lady, please, I beg you, I need your help!"

He caught hold of Andreth's hand, stumbling to one knee as he did.

"What's wrong?" Andreth demanded, her thoughts flying about like leaves in a wild wind. What had happened? Was there some terrible accident at the lighthouse?

She imagined piles of collapsed scaffolding, bodies crushed and buried beneath it- Elrond, Celeborn, Oropher and his son Thranduil, the king Gil Galad, all were there. What had happened to them?

The man sucked in another breath. "My wife was feeling poorly today, so I stayed home with her," the man choked, relieving her of one fear, though his words, filled with anxiety as they were, did not sooth Andreth. "But her pains have started, and the midwife- is across the bay. Lord Elrond is at the lighthouse-" he pointed at the distant, unfinished structure. "I know you are his apprentice. And she needs help now. There is something- something wrong. Please come. Please help. I do not know who else-"

A fire leapt up in Andreth at this.

"Lead the way," she ordered, and as the man scrambled to his feet, and sprinted down the hill, she followed him, her legs flying as swiftly as she could make them run.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Andreth's lungs were burning by the time her guide slid to a stop at one of a long row of modest houses. He legs trembled beneath her, feeling as if they were as weak as straw. But she knew she could not afford to stop and rest. The young husband's words of- "_There is something- something wrong_-" echoed in her mind.

She could taste blood in the back of her throat as she staggered behind her guide through the doorway into the shadowed interior.

Through a doorway at the back of the main room, she could hear soft whimpering, and then a voice as they came through, strained, but filled with hope, "Athan, is that you?"

"I'm back, Laurina," he cried, gesturing Andreth behind him, into the back room. "I brought help for you!"

A young woman, her belly swollen with child, lay upon a wide bed, the sheets in tortured knots about her, her face, hair, and garments drenched with sweat.

"A midwife," she gasped, her voice filled with relief at the sight of Andreth.

Andreth's heart throbbed furiously within her. A midwife? She had never delivered a child before! She'd gone with Firiel to help with the births of their neighbors when she was a small child, but she had only brought the water and towels then, and such memories were broken, and fragmented with time. Elrond had not taught her of such things, keeping his instruction on the treating of wounds, and fevers. What then, was she doing here, _alone_? But for the girl's sake, she swallowed her doubts, steeled her heart, and smiled warmly.

"I am Andreth, a friend of Elrond," she murmured, keeping her voice soft as she moved to the girl, and took her shaking hand. Her mind flashed over all she remembered, which was very little. "How far apart are your pains?"

"I don't-," the girl began, but as if in answer to Andreth's question, her hand tightened fiercely upon the maiden's hand, and her eyes clenched shut as a harsh hiss of pain seethed between her crushed teeth.

Athan, her husband, shoved his hands into his hair. "What must I do?" he pleaded, pacing at the foot of his bed like a caged bear.

"Go fetch Elrond," Andreth ordered over her shoulder even as she flinched with pain at the young woman's grip. "Run with all speed. I will need his help!"

Without a word, the young husband sprinted from the room, and was gone, the front door banging wildly as he sped away.

"Here," Andreth ordered, flumbling in her pack with one hand, before she withdrew a small cloth packet of dried herbs. She studied it a moment, before thrusting it back, and searching again.

The clenching vice of Laurina eased at last, and the weary girl fell back against her crushed and sweat drenched pillows. "I am sorry," she gasped.

"Do not be," Andreth gasped, turning away to search her pack, though she massaged her crushed hand as she did, studying it. Aside from red marks where the girl's fingers had pressed, her hand seemed unhurt, and Andreth quickly withdrew the packet of herbs she sought.

"Chew on this," she ordered, placing a dried and folded leaf in the girl's mouth. "It will help with the pain, and will help your sinews and muscles relax."

Laurina chewed obediently, almost greedily, and the effects were almost immediate as her breathing slowed, and became more even.

Andreth smiled at the girl's face as she pondered what to do next. _Something is wrong- _her husband's words echoed in Andreth's mind.

Turning, she strode out of the room, finding, to her relief, a pot of water set upon the hearth stones near the fireplace where a low flame fluttered. She would not have to leave her charge to go fetch any. Lifting the pot, she heaved it to the table where she poured it into a wide bowl set in the center of the rough hewn table, then set the pot aside, and dipped her hands in the steaming water, scrubbing them fiercely despite the nearly intolerable heat as Elrond had taught her.

Drawing in a breath, she returned. The girl still lay quietly, her eyes open, and gazing at the ceiling.

_Something is wrong_-

Andreth swallowed, and pressed a hand to the girl's abdomen, palpating for the child. What she was looking for, she was uncertain. But then, as if she could suddenly see into the young woman's belly, she knew what was wrong.

"The child is not turned," she murmured to herself, pressing her hands more firmly against the swell of the girl's belly.

"Wha-" the girl's sleepy voice asked, before another pain seized her, and her belly grew taut beneath Andreth's hands.

How long had it been since her last pain?

Andreth moved to the girl's head, catching her hand, which squeezed, though not as fiercely now, and her face was not as agonized.

"I'm going to try to turn the child," she said, her mind swiftly trying to remember what Firiel would do, when threatened with breech births.

The girl met her eyes, and though her face was frightened, there was also trust in her eyes as she nodded.

Putting her hands again on the girl's belly, once the tension had eased again, she gently pressed against the feel of the baby. "Come, little one, do not be so stubborn," she murmured. "Do not turn your back on the world. We want to see your face. Do not be so unkind to your poor mother."

The faintest smile touched her lips as she felt and sensed the little bundle of life easing around beneath her hands, just as yet another contraction seized the little one's young, weary mother.

...

Elrond burst through the door on the heels of the distressed young mortal, his breath heaving, and his pride bruised that he could barely keep pace with a mortal, his legs weary, and feeling like straw beneath him.

"Andreth?" he called, as in the same moment, the young, frightened husband called, "Laurina!"

"Hush!"

The order was spoken in Andreth's voice, and was fierce, and yet good humored at once as she appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, cradling a small, blanketed bundle.

Elrond grinned.

"Your wife is resting," Andreth said. Her forehead gleamed with sweat, and her honey brown hair spilled loose about her shoulders, but her eyes shone. "She did well. Both she and your little daughter are healthy and safe."

"Daughter!" Athan choked in a voice quavering with joy, and strode forward, his arms open to accept the bundle in Andreth's arms.

Her face beaming, Andreth surrendered the little one into her father's arms, and he moved further into the room toward his weary wife.

Elrond could see the man's young wife laying against the pillows of their bed, her face weary, but beaming with joy before the wooden door swung shut behind them, leaving the new little family in privacy.

He met Andreth's eyes, and grinned. For the young mortal's face looked almost as drained yet elated as the new mother.

"It was almost a breech birth," she said, moving to the table where she crumpled into one of the chairs, her eyes still uplifted to Elrond.

"Breech?" Elrond's brow raised as he moved to the table, and fell into the chair beside her own.

Andreth nodded.

"You were able to turn it?"

"Yes. Barely."

"With the labor as far along as it was?"

Andreth shrugged, and nodded.

Elrond released a deep breath. "You may have saved the baby's life."

Andreth smiled wearily at his praise. "Children are what make us immortal," she murmured softly, dropped her eyes to her hands upon the tabletop.

Elrond tipped his head.

She looked up, her eyes returning to his, seeming to sense his unasked question. "Ages from now, that little girl will be gone," Andreth sighed, "like me, like her parents, and all of the Second Born who now live. But her blood will live on in her descendants. Men and women who may know you, then."

Elrond nodded, wondering at the sadness now on her face.

"I will have no children, I fear," she said, dropping her eyes to her hands again.

Elrond swallowed, his heart twisting at the despondency in her tone. He winced at his next words, a part of him knowing he should not be speaking this way. "Hathel cares-"

"I will not marry Hathel," she returned, and though she spoke gently, Elrond could hear a faint edge of ice in her words. He fell silent, knowing her curtness was justified. He knew she did not love the young mortal. And it would be wrong to encourage a loveless marriage.

"I know," he sighed, humbled. "You do not love him."

Silence filled the air between and, in the other room, the soft laughter of the new mother filtered through the doorway.

"Rather, you love my brother."

"Do not worry, Elrond, I will not seek his love. Like my namesake, I will-"

"You already have it, Andreth," Elrond heard himself say.

She fell silent, and now Elrond found he could not meet her gaze, dropping his eyes to his hands. They were covered in dust, the tell tale signs of his work with stone, the city of Mithlond, that would last forever, but- but was only fashioned of cold stone. Andreth's hands were spotless, though, and his eyes went to the basin in the center of the table.

He stood, and dipped his hands in the water, still warm, washing the dust away as Andreth's silence continued to swell in the room.

"What did you say?"

Elrond sighed, and resumed his seat, studying his now wet hands. "The morning he left, Elros confided to me that he is in love with you," he returned, lifting his eyes now to meet Andreth's.

He blinked at her face. Her expression was a mingling of many emotions now, but at the forefront, he saw pain.

"Why have you told me this?" she whispered, her voice breaking as she spoke.

Elrond sat back. "I thought-"

"You know I cannot marry him, not ever! You said yourself what would happen, if I did!"

Raw agony now shone in her eyes. This was not what he had intended.

"Andreth-"

"Never tell him how I feel," she choked, and Elrond gulped at the tears now filling her eyes. "Never. There may yet be hope for him, if he does not know. He can love again, one day. An elf maiden, whom he will never have to lose."

Elrond fell back against his chair, deflated. Was there _hope _as she called it, for Elros? Elrond had seen his brother's eyes from where he sat atop Nórui's back the day he left with Círdan. Even if he never knew of her love for him, could Elros ever look upon another woman the way he did Andreth?

What did Elrond want? To keep his brother always, but forever filled with sorrow for a love that had never been fulfilled, or to lose his brother after only a few years that were filled with happiness? And with children? Elrond's own kin.

"My lady, my lord."

The door opened, and the beaming father strode out into the room, still cradling his little daughter in his arms.

His beaming eyes fixed upon Andreth, and the morose mood of the room lightened.

Andreth grinned, and hastily brushed her hands beneath her eyes, clambering to her feet.

"She is beautiful," she said, to which Athan nodded.

"And we agreed," Athan said, "that we should let you, Lady Andreth, choose her name."

"Oh," Andreth breathed, accepting the precious, blanketed bundle.

She looked at Elrond, beaming now, their recent conflict forgotten for the child's sake.

"Elrond, look at her," she urged, and Elrond, rallying, rose and moved near, gazing down upon the small plump face, the little girl's fists clutched close against her cheeks, her eyes closed.

"She is a beautiful child," he agreed reverently. He touched a finger to the infant's cheek. So soft. Like silk. "Goodly and noble."

"_Arwen_," Andreth purred, and looked up with beaming eyes into Elrond's face before she looked down again at the baby.

He took a step back, and studied the mortal maiden, her eyes alight as she gazed down upon the baby. Her golden hair fell about her shoulders, and she seemed almost to shine as she adored the baby. She could make a wonderful mother.

"What do you think, my lord, Elrond?" she asked. "Do you think the name Arwen is a good name?"

Elrond grinned now, a smile which Andreth returned. "I cannot think of a better," he said. "A beautiful name for a beautiful child."

Athan, the child's father nodded readily, and brushed the back of a hand against his eyes. "Arwen it is, then," he said.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

The evening sun fell at a slant through the windows of the room where Andreth sat before her loom, her fingers moving carefully over the threads where the tapestry of Elrond's dream maiden was slowly coming to life. The girl's face seemed so lifelike and real, and Andreth felt amazed that she was indeed its creator. How she was doing it, she could not say, unless it were her own explanation that she simply looked at the bare white threads, and put onto them the image that she saw in her mind. And the picture Elrond had shown her, of the fair maiden, whose hair he had said was silver, had burned itself into her thoughts.

Images rarely did this in her mind, but now, somehow, the picture was still there, amazingly clear, and here she was, as afternoon fell slowly toward evening, busily making the image of Elrond's dream maiden come slowly to life before it left her thoughts.

She felt something of a kinship with the face taking shape upon the cloth, though she could not say why. She did not know who the girl was, nor even did Elrond. He had said he had seen her in his dreams. Perhaps she was not even a real person.

But then again, Andreth wondered to herself as she recalled the words between herself and her dream of Elros, perhaps the maiden _was_ real.

It was impossible, Andreth knew, to dream of something before she had truly learned it in the waking world. And her dream of Elros had been speaking from the beginning of her dreams of him, of his choice between mortality and immortality. He almost always spoke as if the dream were his, not hers. And why would a creation of her own thoughts do such things?

Andreth swallowed stiffly at a swell of emotion as she remembered also the sweet confessions of love that her dream prince had spoken well before Elrond had admitted that his brother had confided his feelings to him. Why, after all Elrond had said to convince her that she should never seek after his brother, had he admitted his brother's feelings to her? A confession that he must have known could only hurt her, now? Had he thought, somehow, that such words would be welcome? How could they be, now that she knew what would happen to Elros if she became his wife? Either he would succumb to a death he did not need to face, or he would remain alone for the rest of the ages of the world after she died. Andreth wanted neither for him.

But surely it was not too late for Elros. Perhaps his feelings for her were only fleeting, and he could recover. Would, certainly, if he thought her feelings were not returned. Then Elros could heal, and find another one day. Especially if he did not know of her own feelings.

And, of course, after all this worry, if the man in her dreams was only a figment of her own thoughts and not Elros himself, then he would not return with such a necklace as he had promised he would in her dreams, and did not feel such abiding, undying adoration for her as he had so often boldly claimed in the star washed dreamland where she always found him.

Wishing to take her thoughts off of all that troubled her, Andreth glanced down at the harp that sat half hidden behind the threads on her loom, peeking at her like a shy child. But this turn of thought only sent a shaft of guilt through her as she thought of Linnod.

She had not intended to leave with the harp this morning, but she had felt so distressed at Linnod's question about her feelings for Elros that she had not thought to set the harp down.

Linnod had little else but this harp. Was he suffering without it? Surely he knew she would return with it the next day, but still, she guessed now that she might have stolen something far more valuable to her new friend than she imagined.

Andreth sighed as she tamped into place a strand of blue thread that nearly finished the elven maiden's blue eyes, and sat back, gazing into the fair girl's face.

"Well, sister," she murmured to the motionless face upon the cloth. "What should I do? Return it to him now, or wait until our meeting on the morrow?"

The unfinished tapestry spoke not at all, and Andreth turned, glancing about the room, hoping no one saw her speaking to herself.

"It would do little harm, surely, to return it now, or at least try," she reasoned with the silent, lovely face. "If he is not in the cave, he might be nearby, enough to hear my voice if I call, and if he is not anywhere that I can find, then I will know I have tried, and will simply return it tomorrow, with my apologies."

With a sigh, she glanced toward the window, studying the golden light as it spilled through. It was still some time before the evening meal. She could take the harp back to the cave in the hopes that she might find Linnod, and then return before supper.

Setting her shuttle down, Andreth rose, and picked up the harp.

Passing out of the door of the weaving room, she met Aelin coming toward her, a tray bearing a silver pitcher and two cups in her hands.

"My lady," Aelin greeted, her smile faltering when she saw the harp Andreth held.

"Greetings, Aelin," she said with a smile.

"I was coming to see if you wanted refreshment," Aelin said, her voice somewhat fallen.

"I am well enough for now, but thank you. I will be back soon," Andreth said, moving past the elven woman, but Aelin turned and followed her, her eyes grown guarded.

"Where are you going?" Aelin asked.

Her voice sounded much like Elrond's had that morning, when she had told him of Linnod.

Andreth stopped and turned back. "Down to the shore to return this to a friend who has been teaching me to play it these last few days. I misplaced my thoughts, and left with it this morning when I should not have."

"Does she_ live _always down at the seashore, that you would know to go there to return it to her?"

Andreth drew in a breath, bracing for the worry she knew she would see in Aelin's eyes, as she had in Elrond's when she told him who her teacher was.

"My friend is not- a woman. He is a man, an elven man, whose name is Linnod-" She paused. "He is very kind, and honorable, Aelin," she hurriedly spouted when she saw her friend's eyes grow steely, and her expression harden. "He has taught me to play the harp, and to sing as I play- He is very skillful."

"Indeed," Aelin returned, her voice cold, and her expression taut as steel. Aelin's face had not relaxed at Andreth's assuring words, rather she had only grown more stiff with each word the mortal maiden spoke.

In all the months she had known her, Andreth had never known Aelin's usually gentle countenance to look like this.

"What does he look like?" Aelin's words had darkened.

Andreth paused as a glimmer of uncertain fear touched her heart. "Aelin-" she began.

Aelin, seeming to realize her hardness, let her expression ease a little, but she asked again, "Is his hair light? Dark?"

"His hair is dark," Andreth said. "Do you know him?"

Aelin shook her head, her expression grown unreadable. "I know no one named Linnod."

The elven woman drew in and released a breath. She managed a smile, though it seemed stiff. "Forgive me, Andreth, you may go. But return soon. The evening meal is nearly ready."

"I will," Andreth said, and with a grateful smile, turned and hurried to the door that led out to the veranda, and down the stone steps toward the sandy shore of the sea.

She did not see as she went, Aelin's expression harden again, her eyes sparking with cold fire as she set down her silver tray on a small side table, and turn away, her frame stiff with determination, and her feet swift.

...oOo...

Elros' eyes gaze straight ahead as the small group of weary elves and mortals moved slowly along the road that would lead them back again toward Mithlond.

A few rods ahead of where he rode slowly on Nórui's back, the wagon where Lang and Sigil sat, pulled by the patient work horses no longer clattered emptily along as it had on their journey to the new quarry, but bumped and grinded over the road, moving slowly laden as it was, with their load of cut stone. They had cut enough stone in their few days at the quarry that they were returning earlier than they had expected, and Elros was weary but pleased, for now they would return in time for the greater part of the Festival, and, he hoped, he could spend time with Andreth during the festivities.

Mithlond was visible now in the distance, the rising towers blue against the far horizon, and Elros could see the glittering waters of the Lhûn.

_Andreth is there_, he thought to himself, as a welcome warmth stirred within him. _My fair Tindómiel. _He drew in a sigh, imagining the light in her face at his return, the soft touch of her hand as he grasped it in his own. Mayhap the fair mortal maiden would be so pleased at his return, that she would throw her arms about his shoulders and embrace him. The warmth within him flickered into a flame as he imagined the soft feel of her body against his own, his arms circling about her slender waist to pull her more firmly to himself. In all the months he had known her, Elros had never embraced Andreth, keeping the contact between them to a touch of the hand, or a glance of an eye, ever within the bounds of propriety. But he could imagine how holding her in his arms would feel. It would be absolute ecstacy to hold her, to feel her soft, warm body against his own. If even for a brief moment.

_But would she welcome it, herself_? he wondered, recalling her rebuff when he had tried to kiss her in the waterfall cave near the shore. _What are her feelings for me?_

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Hathel's eyes upon him, and he turned his head, meeting the mortal's gaze.

Hathel now looked full at Elros, his gaze almost challenging as if he guessed at the thoughts that had been simmering in Elros' mind just now.

"What is it, Master Hathel?" Elros asked.

"Nothing, my lord." Hathel's words held a faint bite to them, and Elros caught Círdan's eye where the silver-haired shipwright rode, on Hathel's other side. The ancient elf said nothing, though he offered Elros an encouraging glance.

"Only that-" Hathel swallowed stiffly, and turned his eyes to look toward the wagon that ground slowly along the road ahead of them.

Elros followed his gaze to see the shadowed eyes of Lang looking back at him. The swarthy mortal's lips were tight behind the scruff of his beard, and his eyes were cold.

"With all respect due to you, my lord," Hathel continued, his voice lower now, "I think you were a fool to tell him about his cousin, Lhûg."

"I had little other choice," Elros returned, hearing a faint defensiveness in his tone. _Who was this young upstart, to call him a fool? Elros had lived more years than this- this infant's grandfather_! "My knowing the fate of his kinsman and not telling him, would have been ignoble."

"Even so," Hathel began stiffly but Elros cut him off again.

"And if Lang is one to avenge a kinsman who was not wronged so much as he wronged another," Elros continued, "why permit him into Mithlond at all?"

Hathel's eyes narrowed. "He seemed a strong, able worker. I did not know-"

"Hathel, Elros, please," Círdan's voice gently cut into their soft, though heated debate, easing the tightness of Elros' heart. "What I think Hathel is saying, Elros, is that you would do well to watch yourself around Lang, from now on. He of himself, has committed no crime as yet. So far as we know, aside from his crass, and foolish talk. It was his kinsman who did that, and he is dead. But there is a shadow in Lang that gives me unease and which has darkened these last days since you told him of his cousin's fate, and what you were forced to do, to save our goodly friend, Andreth."

Elros met Hathel's eyes, and then Círdan's where the ancient elf rode on Hathel's left side.

"But you were right to tell him, for Lang needed to know," Círdan said softly. "Do with that knowledge what he would."

"It is true then?" Hathel asked in a softened voice that cracked faintly. "Andreth was nearly-"

"Nearly robbed of her virtue, yes," Círdan said with a sad sigh. "And thank the All Father, and the Valar, Elros heard her screams and stopped her attacker in time."

Silence fell as Hathel lowered his eyes, pondering this. "I am glad you were there, Lord Elros." Hathel's voice had fallen to a reverent whisper. "For Andreth's sake."

Elros looked up, meeting the mortal's eyes, and realized that they were unguarded, and free of enmity.

"You would have done the same, had you been in my place, Master Hathel," he said.

To this, Hathel offered him a weak and fleeting half smile before it fell away. The young mortal turned away and fixed his eyes ahead. "_But I wasn't_," he muttered softly to himself. "_And you were_."

Elros said nothing to this as he too looked forward, meeting Lang's darkened gaze. Círdan was right. There seemed a shadow behind the swarthy mortal's eyes, a dark brooding shadow that simmered and swirled like a bridled storm. Lang narrowed his eyes when Elros did not break his gaze, and turned forward. But Elros still recalled the coldness in his eyes, and knew he would do well to remember it.

...oOo...

"Aelin, where are you going?"

Aelin looked up sharply to see Galadriel studying her with a kindly, though curious gaze, then looked down at the small knife sheath she had just belted around her waist. It did look strangely out of place on her, but she looked up again, meeting the wise eyes of the golden haired lady.

She drew in a breath. "I am going to follow Andreth," she said simply. "She says she is going to return the harp she brought home this morning to her friend. She should not have gotten far by now, and I could still follow her from a distance without being seen." Aelin lifted her chin, her eyes sparking. "And did you know this friend whose harp she has, is a _man_, my lady? A dark-haired elven man she says who can both sing and play the harp with great skill?"

Galadriel sighed, and placed a gentle hand upon Aelin's shoulder. "That does not mean that he is Maglor, Aelin."

"But if he is," Aelin said, touching a hand to the hilt of the small knife she now carried at her hip. She did not finish her words, and instead backed away from Galadriel, turned, and hurried away, darting out the door onto the veranda where the sunlight of the late afternoon fell.

Galadriel watched her go, making no attempt to follow after her. Instead, the golden haired lady turned, and glided with swift steps in the opposite direction. Her fair brow furrowed, and her eyes filled with worry.

...oOo...

"Linnod?"

Andreth's voice echoed in the empty cave as she paused at the entrance, the waterfall clattering ceaselessly beside her.

Pursing her lips, she turned, and retreated down the path a pace, glancing about herself.

"Linnod!" she called again, hearing her voice bounce back to her from the cliff face, and the trees about her.

He had to be somewhere nearby. Clutching his harp close to herself, Andreth scrambled up the cliff at a place where the rocks jutted out, and tree roots scrabbled down the rocks, giving her easy foot and handholds, and clambered up the steep slope until it reached level place where she was able to stand upright, and glance around. The stream that poured over the waterfall meandered away into the thickness of the trees before her, further into deeper shadow, and to her right, she could see late afternoon sunlight and the open plain where upon a high rising bluff, she could see Círdan's house.

"Linnod!" she called again, turning her face back to the forest toward the deeper shadows, her voice echoing far and away into the trees. No voice that she could hear, called back to her, but Andreth drew in a breath, picked up the hem of her skirt, and started following the stream. If she could not find him, she could find her way back easily, so long as she stayed with the stream.

"Linnod!" she cried again, holding his arm protectively against herself with both arms as she moved deeper into the shadows. staying always beside the clattering stream that was serving now as her guide.

Above her head, the canopy was thickening, blocking out the sunlight, and the trees about her were growing thicker, their roots more gnarled, their trunks thrusting higher than their brothers nearer to the edges of the forest.

The undergrowth was less dense here, and the shadows were more thick. Less light pierced the canopy here, she realized, and no undergrowth could grow here, in this place of constant twilight.

"Linnod! Where are you?" she cried again. "I have returned with your harp. I am sorry I took it with me. I did not mean to!"

Her voice echoed away through the trees that stood like the pillars of some great vast hall.

Andreth drew in a sigh, and shrank closer to the clattering stream, her only familiar companion. She hugged the harp close, and turned, looking over her shoulder. Far and away, she could see faint hints of light, that let her know the edge of the forest was near. And the stream was every close at hand.

Andreth squinted, wondering what it was she had seen ducking behind a tree. A faint shadow, or perhaps nothing at all. Her heart quickened.

Linnod was not here. Perhaps it would be best to turn around before her mind played any more tricks on her.

"You did not need to come looking for me, my friend," Linnod's welcoming, familiar voice chided, and Andreth spun again, grinning as the dark haired elf stepped from behind the wide trunk of a fat tree, and bowed graciously to her. "But it is good to see you in any case."

Andreth grinned and took in the welcome sight of him. She returned his courtly gesture with a graceful curtsy of her own. This was the first time, she realized, that she had seen him outside of Elros' cave. He seemed taller here in the woods than she had first thought, the star, or jewel emblazoned upon his chest seeming to gather what little light there was, and illuminate the forest around them.

"I meant to return your harp, Master Linnod." She held out the instrument to him, and with a grin, he came forward, eagerly to claim it. "I should not have left so hurriedly."

"I should not have pressed you with questions that I had not place to ask," he said, taking the instrument into his hands, cradling the instrument as if it were a lost child, only just returned to its worried father.

Andreth sighed a breath, grateful for the elven man's care in withholding Elros' name for the moment.

"I missed you, old friend," he murmured to the instrument, plucking a few strings, and sending forth a sweet refrain.

He looked up at Andreth. "Athough you did not need to do so. I knew I would see you again, tomorrow. I did not fear for this dear friend. I knew it was in good hands."

Andreth shrugged, pleased with the gratitude in his eyes. "I must admit, my lord, Linnod, I came not merely to return your harp, but because I was also curious. I wanted to see where you dwelt when you are not teaching me."

Linnod smiled. "Then come," he said congenially. "I will show you."

He gestured with his hand, and Andreth followed him around to the far side of the fat tree.

Following any other man like this, mortal or elf, deeper into an already dark forest would be a foolish thing, Andreth acknowledged to herself. But Linnod, she knew, was honorable, and she could trust him. She had known it from her first meeting simply by the kindness she had seen in his eyes. Such kindness could never be feined, not by the most skillful charlatan.

"Here is were I dwell, at least for now," he said gesturing to what seemed a large knot in the tree, the size of a man, overhung with thick moss. But as he drew the moss aside, Andreth realized the tree was hollow on the inside, and the knot opened into a small room.

Upon one side, a bedroll lay unrolled upon the earthen floor, and in the middle of the hollowed chamber a small gracefully fashioned lamp hung from the woody ceiling, putting forth a single, humble flame. upon the wall hanging from jutting bits of wood, hung various packs and pouches which she guessed contained his personal effects, clothing, and food, perhaps.

"Astounding," Andreth breathed. "When I was small, my guardian Firiel permitted me to built a treehouse in the branches of one of the trees on her land. She even let me sleep there now and then, when the weather was warm enough to permit it. I thought it was such an adventure to sleep in a tree. But you truly sleep_ in _a tree! I have never done so."

Linnod began to chuckle at this, but then a moment later, his smile fell, and he tipped his head, as if suddenly listening for something.

He glanced behind her, and around himself, a faint expression of uncertainty in his eyes. "Did anyone come with you? Any _elves_?"

"No," Andreth said, her smile fading as well as she remembered the shadow she had thought she had seen behind her in the trees. "I came alone. Though I spoke to Elrond of you-"

His brow furrowed at this.

"_Andreth, get away from him_!"

Andreth turned suddenly, her eyes going wide at the sight of Aelin.

Her friend, breathing swiftly, her eyes flaming with anger, stepped from behind a nearby tree, clutching a small dagger in one hand.

"This is not your quarrel," Aelin choked, "and I don't want you hurt."

"Aelin!" Andreth cried, startled as she moved to step between the elven woman and Linnod. "This is Linnod. I promise you, he is a friend. He wasn't going to hurt me!"

Aelin scoffed at this. "Of course he wasn't going to hurt you! You have no silmaril! But were you to be holding one in your hand at this moment, all vows of friendship would be forgotten, and if you did not surrender it to him, he would cut your hand off at the wrist, simply to take the cursed jewel from you!"

"Aelin!" Andreth protested, her eyes flying between her friend, and Linnod. Aelin held herself as if she meant to lunge at Linnod any moment, and only Andreth's presence was keeping her from doing so.

Despite her obvious desire to attack him, Linnod stood unmoving against the trunk of the tree, his arms at his sides, his head half bent, his eyes downcast as if in defeat, or shame. At the corner of one eye, Andreth saw a tear. He had dropped his harp, and it lay forlorn between where Andreth stood, and Aelin. But Andreth did not dare to bend to retrieve it for fear that Aelin would attack Linnod then.

"And his name," Aelin spat, "is not _Linnod_!"

"What-" Andreth choked, fury and frustration mingling with the confusion already roiling in her heart, "If his name is not Linnod, then what is it, Aelin?"

"Ask him yourself, Andreth," Aelin snapped. "If all the innocent blood he has shed, does not choke his throat!"

Andreth turned toward the elven man, her brow furrowing. "Linnod?" she questioned in a voice that had grown small.

"Forgive me for my deception, my lady Andreth," he choked, his voice thick with sorrow. "I had feared if I told you my true name, that you would not wish to visit me. And I have truly enjoyed your company and friendship these few days, and teaching you the skills I cherish so very much."

From where she stood, Aelin made a thick scoffing sound in her throat.

Andreth for the moment, ignored the elven woman. "Please my friend, what is your name, if not Linnod?" Andreth pleaded.

At this, the single tear in the elven man's eye escaped, and trailed a silver line down his cheek.

A ragged breath filled his lungs. "My name," he murmured, "is Maglor, son of Fëanor."


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Andreth's heart felt as if it had turned into ice as her eyes stared at the elven man, whom moments before, she would have sworn was one who could never harm anyone, his gentle eyes and fatherly smile incapable of belonging to a man who could commit the unspeakable kinslayings that he had.

But his name had fallen from his own lips, _Maglor, son of Fëanor_.

Before her stood one of those who had slain his kindred at Alqualondë, at Doriath, at the Mouths of Sirion. She staggered back a space, feeling upon her shoulders the sudden weight of all the innocents this man had slain.

"Maglor," she muttered in a voice that was hardly her own. He nodded, still with the eyes, the face of the one whom she had come to know as Linnod, but now with an expression of deepest grieving.

How had she not seen? His harp, his voice- the very jewel emblazoned upon his worn and ragged jerkin-

"I am- sorry," he choked. His words fell from his lips, weighted. Andreth realized he was not merely speaking to her of his deception, but of all he had done, of all the blood he had spilt, knowing as he spoke the words, that he could never make recompence for his deeds.

He turned to Aelin. "So very sorry."

"Your words cannot bring back the dead, _Fëanorion_," Aelin snarled.

Andreth again became conscious that she still stood between the elven woman and the minstrel. But she did not move.

"I know." Maglor crushed his eyes shut. Wetness spilled from beneath his eyelids, streaming down his cheeks. "But I wish that they could."

Aelin's breast rose and fell with her increasing fury. "You can't, Fëanorion! Those you killed will never walk these shores again!" She swallowed hard, and edged a step nearer. "You spilled rivers of innocent blood! And for what?" She gestured her free hand at his chest. "A shining bauble! How is such a thing worth more than a life?" She choked on a sob, "Than my sister's life?" She sneered at him, her own eyes filled with tears. "You are a murderer."

Aelin's foot kicked something on the ground in front of her that vibrated, and Andreth's eyes dropped to Maglor's harp, where it lay upon the ground where it had fallen from his helpless hands.

Snatching it up from the ground, Aelin studied it for a moment, before she slashed the knife through several of the strings that snapped with sharp, painful twangs before casting it aside where it fell, and lay still, its severed strings splayed in several directions like a slain creature its intestines spilled over the ground. Andreth stared at it in dismay. The beautiful harp!

As if her deed had struck him a physical blow, Maglor sagged back against the rough bark of the tree, his legs almost buckling beneath him. Only the solid bark of the tree kept him from crumpling to the ground.

"That is nothing," Aelin spat, "compared to what you did!"

Standing between the two adversaries, Andreth felt numb. Aelin's words, she knew, were all true. Before her crumpled like one thoroughly defeated, was a man who had slain uncounted numbers of his own kindred in pursuit of the gleaming jewels his father had wrought. His mission had been futile and unjust, his oath foolish. And yet- this same elf had spared Elros and Elrond, and he had been so kind to her, his eyes lighting with pleasure he could not have feigned as she played the songs he had taught her. His friendship, she had thought, had seemed so sincere.

"And where are they now, your precious silmarilli?" Aelin demanded. "The remaining two that you stole away from Eönwë himself? Where are they now? Where is Maedhros?"

"They burned our hands," Maglor choked. He held out his right hand, palm outward, to show a round reddened scar upon his palm that Andreth had failed to notice before. "For our sins, we could not hold them. Russandol could not take the pain, nor part with the jewel, and so with it, he threw himself into a crack in the earth, and perished."

"What of you, Maglor?" Andreth whispered, studying the last living son of Fëanor with a numb heart.

"Mine, I threw into the sea," he said in a cracking voice. "As far out as my strength could hurl it." His moist eyes grew distant for a moment. "It hung in the evening sky like a star- before it fell, and disappeared beneath the waves."

"And you still live," Aelin growled.

"If you can call it that." Maglor sighed raggedly. "My heart still beats."

"I will still it soon," Aelin insisted, drawing a step forward. "Andreth, step away from him."

The mortal maiden looked up, meeting the fierce eyes of her gentle friend.

"No, Aelin," she murmured. "Killing him will not bring your sister back. It will only-"

"Get out of my way, Andreth." Aelin snarled. "I put venom on the blade, and one scratch will send him into long and painful agonies before he dies. You are mortal, and would die all the faster."

Still, the mortal maiden stood her ground. "No, Aelin."

Snarling like a wild cat, Aelin lunged forward at this, one arm striking Andreth hard in the shoulder, and knocking her to the side. Andreth stumbled and fell to the leaf strewn ground, her shoulder throbbing. She leapt up quickly and spun.

Aelin's left forearm was thrust against Maglor's throat, pinning him up against the trunk of the tree, the blade still clutched in her hand, and though his strength surely outmatched her own, Maglor did not struggle. His eyes gleamed with wetness, as he met Aelin's furious gaze unflinching.

Aelin was sobbing now, the blade in her hand pressed against the elven man's cheek. "My father was slain by werewolves helping Finrod and the mortal Beren, and my mother died of grief. My husband fell in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, leaving me heartbroken, and childless. My sister was all I had left on these shores. She was so beautiful, and so kind and good. And _you_ took her from me!"

Andreth wanted to leap forward, and snatch Aelin's arm to pull the knife away, but instead she stood frozen, not daring to move. Andreth could see the indent of his skin beneath the blade. The slightest movement would cut the skin, and send death coursing through his veins.

"I am guilty of all that you say," Maglor confessed, choking on his own emotion. "And with all that I am, I would that I could bring her back. But I cannot."

"I should kill you now," Aelin snarled.

"No, Aelin, please," Andreth pleaded, stepping nearer. "Don't do this. Killing him this way will only put blood on your hands. Let him go. For your own sake, Aelin. Please. Is it not enough that he can never return to the Blessed Realm for his deeds? He is no more a danger to anyone here. He will kill no more. I have seen it in his eyes."

"So he wishes you to believe," Aelin snarled softly. She turned back to Maglor, her jaw trembling, and tears falling from her eyes. "Why should I show mercy to you, when you did not show mercy to my sister?"

The thunder of a horse's hooves cut through any answer Maglor would have given.

"_Aelin, no_!" Elrond's voice was a sharp pleading cry, which caused Aelin to jerk her head in the direction of the sound.

Her knife withdrew from Maglor's face, and at this, Andreth, without conscious thought, threw herself forward, grasping Aelin's wrist with one hand, while she struggled to snatch the hilt of the knife away with her other.

Aelin reacted, unthinking, and wrenched the knife back. The blade slipped from Andreth's grasp, slicing across her palm, leaving a line of white hot pain behind, and eliciting a sharp cry of surprise and pain from Andreth's lips.

But this burning pain did not stay in her palm, rather it flashed like a flame, up into her arm as if the whole of that limb was suddenly consuming in an invisible inferno.

A wild shriek tore from Andreth's lips now as she crumpled to the ground in agony, clutching the wrist of her slashed palm.

"_No_!" The anguished wail came now from Aelin, who, staggered back, a look of horror upon her face. Aelin threw the blade away from her, and dropped to her knees, her eyes wild with guilt and despair.

Every muscle in Andreth's body seemed to contract in agony, and Andreth found herself barely able to breath.

Two faces appeared above her, and through the haze of her pain, she recognized Elrond, and Linnod, no, Maglor.

"There was venom on the blade," Maglor choked.

"What kind?" Elrond shouted. "_Aelin, what kind_?"

"Tree viper venom," Aelin choked.

Elrond looked toward Aelin in disbelief. "_Where did you get it_?"

"A vial in your apothocary."

To this, Elrond uttered a soft curse.

"I must get her back to Círdan's house, now!" he said, and his arms scooped beneath Andreth, picking her up from the ground.

Pain crackled through her body at the movement, and Andreth crushed her teeth together, writhing in Elrond's arms.

"_Elros_!" she cried, the name tearing from her lips. In her pain, she was hardly conscious of what she was saying. "_Where is Elros_?"

"He's coming," Elrond said to her, turning away. "Stay with me, Andreth, and you will see him soon."

In the corner of her eye, she saw Maidh, the white mare, her coat glimmering in the forest gloam.

"No, Eärendilion," Maglor snapped, and a strong arm jerked Elrond to a halt. "She is mortal, and the poison will work faster in her. Her wound must be treated, now, or she will die! At best, she will lose her hand, or her arm!"

"You have herbs here to draw out the poison?"

"I have Athelas."

"Athelas is extinct!" Elrond barked back. "It grew only in Beleriand and was all lost when Beleriand was sunken."

"I have dried leaves and seeds with me, boy!" Maglor barked. " It is the swiftest and strongest herb to draw out the poison. It is her only chance! Stop arguing, and get her inside!"

Without further argument, Elrond followed the last son of Fëanor through the mossy doorway into the small hollowed chamber within the tree, the flickering light of the small lamp passing above her face in a blur as Elrond moved to lay her down upon the bedroll.

There was movement in the room. Maglor jerked one of the bags from the wall, and plunged his hand inside. "See?" he insisted, drawing out a handful of crumpled leaves.

Elrond gasped, and seized upon these in an instant, crumpling them in his palm as he turned and dropped to his knees at Andreth's side. He spat furiously into his cupped palm, pressing his free thumb into the leaves, mixing them in with his spittle.

"Open her hand for me," he ordered, "we must press this into the wound." The minstrel obeyed, seizing the wrist of Andreth's burning arm, and forcing the fingers open.

The movement caused new pain to rake along her arm, and Andreth could not keep back a choking wail of pain.

"Dear Valar," Maglor muttered in a sickened voice as he forced her fingers open. Andreth turned her head to look though she dreaded what she would see.

A gash knifed across her palm, long but surprisingly shallow for the agony it sent through her. It bled little, but outward from the long cut, ugly purplish veins slashed raggedly away, up into her fingers, and down her forearm, disappearing into her sleeve like streaks of wicked lightening. Elrond pressed a hand hard against the flesh of her forearm near her elbow and pressed upward toward her palm. The pain of his hand's weight elicited another choking wail of pain, but Elrond did not ease the pressure of his hand. As his hand neared her wrist, an ooze of blood, laced through with streaks of black escaped the gash on her palm. Elrond hastily brushed this away with his thumb before pressing the mass of dampened leaves into the open wound.

The moment the poultice of leaves touched her gash, the firey pain in her arm began to ease, the burning agony drawing back down her arm toward her slashed palm where Elrond pressed the crushed leaves even deeper into the wound. Even as she watched, the purple slashes up her fingers and her forearm began to ease and fade. Feeling returned to her fingers, and Andreth twitched them experiementally.

"_I've killed her, haven't I_?" a broken voice choked in the doorway, and Aelin's pale face appeared. The elven woman sagged against the side of the opening. Her countenance was so stricken, that Andreth wanted nothing more than to rush to her friend and comfort her. But her body felt drained and heavy despite the fading pain.

"No, Aelin," Elrond said in a weary voice as he looked over his shoulder, "she will not die. This athelas is drawing out the poison even as I speak."

"Oh," Aelin's voice was small. Her eyes roved reluctantly to Maglor. "Had Fëanorion not had the herb-"

"_He had it_," Elrond cut in forcefully. "I will not think of what would have happened had he not."

Aelin fell silent and dropped her eyes.

"Aelin," Elrond said now, his voice grown gentler.

"My lord?" Aelin choked in a voice that was barely her own.

"Ride Maidh back to the house of Lord Círdan. Find my bag of healing herbs and wrappings. Knot it to Maidh's saddle, then send her back here. She will find the way easily enough on her own, now. Then seek out the Lady Galadriel and tell her what has happened. She is waiting for news of us all."

Maglor stirred and opened his mouth as if he wished to speak, but then he fell silent, and said nothing.

Aelin spoke in a soft voice. "The lady sent you?"

"She worried about you." Elrond nodded. "She feared you might do something-" He looked over his shoulder at Aelin, then at Maglor, "that you could not undo."

Aelin said nothing to this. She looked down, then turned and left the doorway, the dark curtain of moss falling back in its place with a soft swishing sound.

A moment later, the sound of hooves against the ground thumped away, and faded.

"Andreth?" Elrond asked, touching a gentle hand to Andreth's cheek and studying her face. He smiled when he noted her open eyes.

"Elrond," she said through a voice that felt as if she had swallowed cotton. "I will not die?"

"No," he said. "You will live, my friend." His eyes grew wet. "You will see Elros again."

"I will not lose my hand?"

"No," Elrond said, his smile quivering as he swallowed stiffly. "But if you had, Elros would- love you all the same."

"But if she had died, he would have lost her, entirely." These words came from Maglor. He sat back now a few lengths away, kneeling, his hands upon his knees, his eyes down. The bag of dried athelas leaves, he had looped over his shoulder

"Elrond, this is the _Linnod_ I spoke of," she murmured, her eyes uplifted to Elrond. "We are friends."

"And for that friendship, she nearly died," Maglor muttered. "For a liar, and a murderer."

Andreth turned her head to look up at Maglor. He met her eyes, unsmiling, then he rose, turned, and strode out the door.

"I know he is Maglor," Andreth whispered painfully once he had gone.

Elrond looked over his shoulder toward the doorway where Maglor had disappeared. "I will return in a moment. Leave the poultice where it is on your hand."

Andreth nodded, and managed a faint, weary smile.

Elrond returned her smile, then scrambled to his feet, turned, and brushed out the door after Maglor.

...oOo...

Elrond saw Maglor sitting near the edge of the small stream, his harp cradled in his lap, its broken strings trailing away. The pouch of athelas leaves still hung crosswise over his shoulder.

Maglor looked no different than he did so many years ago, though he did not seem as tall. Elrond smiled briefly, recalling how tall and daunting the two sons of Fëanor had been when he had been small. Now, he guessed, he was taller than his once foster father by a half a hand's span.

He drew in a deep breath as he strode up behind the miserable elf, and lowered himself to the ground beside him.

"I know someone who can restring that, _Otorno_," he said, using the pet name he and Elros had adopted for both Maglor and his brother after they had overcome their fear of the two.

Maglor looked down at the gurgling brook. "My harp can be restrung," he said. "But the dead cannot be so easily returned."

Elrond said nothing to this, but he sighed, and reached out, clapping a hand upon Maglor's shoulder in the manner Maglor had often done to comfort him or his brother in the days when they were small, before he had left them where they could be found by other elves.

"How did you know where to find us, _Seldo titta_?" Maglor asked.

"Andreth told me she had been meeting someone who was teaching her to play the harp," Elrond said. "When the Lady Galadriel sent me word about her concern for Aelin, how she had followed Andreth who was looking for you, I took a guess. I remembered this old hollow tree, and wondered that this might be where you would be staying when you were not teaching Andreth in the cave."

Maglor smiled weakly. "You have grown as clever and wise as I had hoped, _Seldo titta_. Círdan has been good to you? And Gil Galad?"

"Yes, _Otorno_," Elrond said. He turned to look at Maglor's face, but the other elf had yet to look at him directly.

"And you have become a magnificent healer," Maglor said. "You saved the maiden's life."

"You had the athelas."

"You knew how to use it more effectively than I ever could."

Elrond fell silent. It was strange and surreal to be sitting here, talking with Maglor as if they were old friends wishing to renew an acquaintance that had only suffered the parting of a few years. So much had changed. He had been a child when he had seen Maglor last. Now he was a man.

"The lady Andreth has greatness in her," Maglor said quietly, his eyes still gazing straight ahead. "I have sensed it."

"As have I, and many others," Elrond agreed. "Lord Círdan not the least of them. She is descended of the house of Bëor, and I can see the nobility in her. She has many noble qualities, in truth."

"Noble qualities that- your brother too has noted?"

Elrond turned, and at last Maglor's eyes met his own. The were somber and glistened with wetness. "I know their feelings for one another, but nothing has been spoken between them. She would have it remain that way, and I must admit, that I am of a mind to agree with her."

"Why do your feelings bend that way?"

"We have been given the choice of our ancestor, Lúthien," Elrond said. "And if, for his love for a mortal maid, he chooses the path of the Second Born, Elros would one day die. I do not want that."

"It is difficult to lose a brother," Maglor said, his voice soft. "I know such pain far too well."

Elrond drew in a ragged breath. "You do," he agreed.

Maglor offered Elrond a tearful smile. "Maedhros is dead, Elrond," he said.

The words, oddly, did not surprise him, but the weight of them still fell into the pit of his stomach like a heavy stone.

"But I heard you and he won the last two Sillmarilli from Eönwë."

Maglor shook his head. "He could have had us slain; he let us take them. But they burnt our hands." He showed Elrond the scar upon his palm, and Elrond gulped fiercely as his once foster father recounted the tail of their winning, and then losing the two Silmarils, of Maedhros' fiery death, and his own choice to fling his long sought prize far out to sea.

"I am cursed now," Maglor continued. "I fear I will never return to the Blessed Realm, nor see the face of she whom I love, until the ending of the world. If even then."

"But your kindness to us must count for something, Otorno. And your kindness to Andreth, whom your foresight has saved. Such could not be forgotten by the Valar."

Maglor muttered. "What are three lives saved or spared compared to so many thousands taken?"

"I do not know," Elrond admitted. "I am not the All Father. But your mercy mattered to us, and your wisdom in saving the leaves of the athelas matter to Andreth, and to those of us who care for her."

"Speaking of the maiden Andreth, you should go to her, and see how she fares."

"I should," Elrond agreed, and with a deep sigh, he rose to his feet.

"_Seldo titta_," Maglor said, scrambling to his feet behind Elrond.

Elrond turned.

Maglor swallowed, meeting his eyes. So long ago, Maglor had seemed as tall as a mountain. Now, Elrond could clearly see, he was indeed a little shorter than Elrond himself. So long ago he towered above him and Elros, a bloodied blade in his hand that lowered, its tip touching the stones at his feet then fell to the ground.

"It is good to see you," Maglor said, his voice softened. "I have missed you and your brother more than words can say."

"And we have missed you, _Otorno_," he said. Then, impulsively, he strode back, and threw his arms around Maglor.

The other elf stiffened for a moment, as if he had not expected the embrace. But then his stiffness eased, and his own arms went around Elrond. The two men held each other for a long moment before Maglor clasped Elrond's shoulders, and pushed him back.

"You should see to your fair charge," he said. "For both her sake, and for Elros'. I suspect there is already a bond between them, even if they have not spoken of it."

Elrond glanced back at the wide knot that led into the tree where Andreth rested. _Perhaps_, he admitted. _But if it could be undone-_

"You will restring my harp?"

"I give you my word, _Otorno_," he promised, turning back.

"Good," Maglor said. "Bring it back here when it is ready, and I will come to retrieve it."

Elrond took the proffered harp from Maglor's hands, then turned back to the hollow tree.

He had taken less than five paces toward the entrance to the hollow in the tree, when he sensed a change behind him, and turned.

Maglor was suddenly gone. Like a breath of wind. And though he looked up the stream and down, and through the shadows of the woods as far as he could see, Elrond could see no sign of the last surviving son of Fëanor.

...oOo...

Elros flinched, rubbing the aching palm of his right hand with the thumb of his left. It had been throbbing since early evening, and he did not know why. But the inexplicable pain in his hand did not occupy the greater part of his thoughts where he sat on his bedroll, and studied the flames of the fire.

For across from him, Lang sat, also on his bedroll, his chin on his fists, seeming to study the flames of the fire as he was, though Elros noted his eyes flick often to him, and simmer with undisguised malice. Some small comfort, was that to his right and left, as if deliberately flanking him, Círdan and Hathel had set up their own bedrolls.

Sigil, simple, yet good-hearted, was already asleep in his own bedroll, oblivious to the tension all the others felt.

"My friends," Círdan said at last, the first sound, aside from the flicker of the flames, that any of them had heard in several minutes, "I propose that tonight, we trade in taking watch. It would be wise, after all, to have warning if some wild beast were to come upon our camp in the middle of the night."

"I will take the first watch," Lang agreed gruffly.

"Indeed not," Círdan countered. "I would not hear of it, Master Lang. I shall take the first."

"Why not me?" Lang growled.

Hathel shifted where he sat. "Elves suffer less from loss of sleep than we do," he volunteered. 'In truth, Master Lang, they could go for days," he shot a fleeting glance to Círdan and Elros as he said this, and Elros caught the ghost of a smile as he continued, "they could, if need be, go for weeks without sleep."

Lang's eyes widened at this, and he swayed where he sat, as if the very thought exhausted him. At last, he shook his head, and clambered into his own bedroll with a grunt of frustration and turned his back to the fire.

Círdan sighed, and leaned back against a tree. "Go ahead and sleep, my young friends," he said to Elros and Hathel. "I know you are both weary."

"I can sit up with you," Elros offered as Hathel, without protest, snuggled down into his own bedroll.

"No," Círdan said, and offered the youthful elf a generous smile. "Go ahead and rest. No doubt it is a great boon to you."

The tone of his last words gave Elros pause, and he looked over to the silver-haired shipwright, meeting his eyes.

"Do not worry for me, Elros," Círdan assured him. "Let your thoughts go, and sleep. All will be well. It will not be much longer until we are again in Mithlond, in the company of those we care for, and who care for us."

Círdan's words were soothing, like a father's voice, and Elros lay down, snuggling beneath the folds of his bedroll. He settled upon his back, studying the stars in the sky above him, already dimming in his vision with the coming of sleep.

"_Andreth_," he breathed to himself, the word little more than a breath of air past his lips, before the stars of the waking world faded, and passed from his view.

...oOo...

Elros drew in a breath of the sweet ocean air as the sea of his dreamscape came into view.

How real this all seemed, always, he marveled once again as he turned, casting his eyes about for the fair dream maiden he always met here.

A smile came to his face as he saw her, clad in a gown of deep blue, seated upon a grassy hillock some distance down the beach. She did not seem to be aware of him, and her back was half turned to him, her head bent.

Elros grinned to himself and started in a trot toward her. She seemed to be studying something in her hand. But she held nothing, from what he could see.

"I cannot let him see this," she was whispering to herself. "If he is real, he will guess-,"

"What will I guess?" he called out, and at his cheerful voice, the dream maiden turned with a start, and lunged to her feet.

"My lord," she gasped.

Her right hand, she balled into a fist, and pressed it close to her stomach as if concealing something within it.

Elros' brows furrowed. "What are you hiding, fair one?" he teased, taking a step forward, and reaching out a hand as if he meant to take her by the wrist and look at what she held.

"Nothing," she insisted, backing up a step, her eyes growing wide.

Elros fell back a step. He had no wish to frighten her, even if she was only a creation of his mind.

"Are you- hurt, my lady?" he breathed, taking another step forward.

"No, my lord," she blurted. She smiled, though it was fleeting and forced. "How could I be hurt, when I dwell only in your thoughts?"

Elros let his eyes fall to the sand at his feet before his gaze rose again, fixing upon her eyes, then falling to the pearl necklace that rested against her smooth flesh. Her soft breathing had quickened. She _was _hiding- something.

"Please, fair one," he pleaded, holding his hand out again. "Do you not trust me?"

The dream maiden who bore Andreth's face and voice and form studied his eyes pleadingly. "I trust you more than any man that draws breath, Elros," she breathed. "But-,"

"Then I beg you, show me your hand. Even here, it pains me to think that you may be hurt, and that I can do nothing."

Now, as he reached forward, he did grasp her wrist.

"Elros, please!" she begged, falling back a step. But her foot, stepping backward, met the rising slope of the small hill, and she tumbled to the grass. His hand upon her wrist, Elros stumbled with her, and in a moment, before his awareness even caught up with himself, Elros lay with the greater part of his weight pressing down upon the dream maiden where she lay upon the slope of the small hill, her hair splayed luxuriously about her head, and the softness of her young, slender body evident even through the fabric of their clothing. He felt a warm stirring of desire in spite of himself and wondered abashedly, if she noticed it. Beneath his chest, he could feel the sudden wild throbbing of her heart, and her eyes, mere inches from his own, were wide and pleading as he looked into them.

"_Andreth_?" he heard himself breath softly, his own heart beginning to thunder now as well. "Forgive me. I did not intend-"

"Please, let me go," she pleaded, begging now.

Obedient, Elros scrambled off of her, and sat up, shaking his head to clear it. He released her wrist, no longer caring whether he saw what was in her hand or not, and turned away from her, resting his arms upon his knees.

"Your eyes," he whispered, his words spoken more to himself than the maiden who sat up behind him, the cloth of her gown rustling in the stillness of the dream land. "They are Andreth's eyes. In every detail. I saw-" he swallowed. "I saw her_ soul _in your eyes."

He began to turn to her. "How is it poss-"

Elros stopped. For the dream maiden had disappeared. Only the impress of the grass where they had lain together for that fleeting moment remained to tell him that she had ever been there.

...oOo...

Andreth woke in her bed, her eyes flying open, blurred for a moment before they focused upon the gossamer canopy above her head dim in the shadows of night. Her cheeks were wet, and she realized she had been crying in her sleep. Silently, she guessed, for the figure seated beside her bed, silver and slender in the darkness, a single candle at her shoulder, seemed not to have been disturbed.

"My lady," she said, hearing the tears in her voice now as she spoke.

Galadriel looked up from her book, now suddenly attentive.

"Andreth," she breathed, setting her book down, and leaning over the bed to touch the maiden's shoulder. "Did I disturb you? Elrond said someone should sit up with you until your wound is healed."

Andreth lifted her arm from beneath the coverlet and studied the bandage wrapped around her palm and wrist.

A dull throb did manifest itself now as she thought about it, but it was barely apparent.

"Take a little water," Galadriel urged, and rose to her feet. She took up a slender pitcher upon the small table at her side, and carefully filled a silver cup.

"Drink a little, if you can," she said, offering the cup to Andreth. "There are herbs for the pain if you wish."

"My hand does not hurt so badly," she murmured, though she did reach across to grasp the cup with her left hand.

"Something pains your heart," Galadriel observed as Andreth drank.

Andreth sighed, and let Galadriel take the emptied cup.

"Yes," she said.

"What is it?" Galadriel asked. "You have endured much today, and it could be many things, or a combination of them all."

"I suppose," Andreth said with a sigh, grateful for something to keep her from falling to sleep again, "that it is many things. And one thing you would not guess."

"I am listening," Galadriel said, settling herself in her chair, and turning to face the mortal maiden where she lay.

"I am sad for Aelin," she began, and Galadriel's eyes softened as she nodded. "And for Maglor- for everyone hurt by the quest for the Silmarilli that he and his kindred set out upon. I cannot fathom his grief. Nor can I fathom Aelin's. She was so angry. Yet I do not think she could have brought herself to truly hurt him. I know she did not mean to hurt me."

"She did not," Galadriel sighed, "and she is even now, awake in her own room, pacing, and crying, and striving to commune with the Valar. Perhaps your mishap, as terrible as it was, will help her overcome her hatred for Maglor and his kin." Galadriel gave a somber sigh, "For her own sake, more than for his. For I know for myself, that hate twists the heart of the one who feels it more than it hurts the one who is hated."

Andreth nodded, and said nothing. She felt weariness weighting her eyelids, and sat up, cradling her injured hand in her left hand.

"I sense you are not finished sharing all your heart," Galadriel said. "What was the one thing paining you that I may not guess?"

"I have been dreaming," Andreth said with a sigh. "About Elros."

"That is not so unusual," Galadriel said with a teasing smile. "I often dreamed about my lord Celeborn before we were wed." Galadriel blushed like a smitten maiden. "Sometimes I still do."

"But were they so vivid, it was like you were awake?"

She sighed, and looked into Galadriel's eyes. "Did you ever- _share_ any dreams with him?"

To this question Galadriel grew sober. "Are your dreams as you describe? Do you think Elros shares them with you?"

"I don't know," Andreth murmured. "But I will when he returns."

She studied Galadriel's sober eyes. "In a dream not long ago, he told me he would bring me a gift when he returns. A necklace just like one I wear in my dream, made of mithril, with a fair pearl hanging from it."

"If it is true," Galadriel breathed, "such dreams could only be a gift of the Valar, for some- high, wonderful purpose."

A hopeful smile touched Galadriel's lips. "And if it is true, what do you intend to do?"

Andreth sighed and dropped her eyes to her bandaged hand. "Do not censure me for this," she prefaced. Galadriel's smile faded.

"If it is true," Andreth sighed, "I intend to leave. To return to Firiel, and never come back. I know you and I have spoken of this before, but I want him to be free. To be able to love an elf maiden one day. I love him, and I do not want Elros to die."


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Mirion the jeweler sat at his workbench, inspecting the second of a pair of silver betrothal rings, seeing his reflection in its gleaming surface. He smiled, and his bent reflection smiled back, clearly pleased with his work.

Tomorrow would be the first day of the Harvest Festival, and, as often happened, a number of betrothals would be announced that week. If he wished to profit from the sudden rise of amorous couples wishing to plight their troth, he would be wise to have enough stock on hand to satisfy them.

His musings were interrupted by a quick rap at the door of his shop, and Mirion rose to his feet, hastily brushing his hands against his apron before he crossed to the door, and opened it.

To his delight, the youthful lord Elros who had given him the fair pearl just a week before stood in the reddening light of the evening beyond, with Círdan silver-haired elven lord at his shoulder. The dark haired youth looked hopeful and happy, if not a great deal wearier than he had when he and his fellows had left the city a week before.

Beyond the pair, a small group of mortals stood, looking dusty and bedraggled, one holding to the reins of three horses, the other two standing without mounts.

"Welcome back, my lords," Mirion greeted, stepping back and ushering the two elven men inside with a wave of his hand. "You have come, my lord Elros, to see the necklace I have fashioned for your lady?"

"I have," the youthful elf said, his eyes bright and somewhat breathless. "Is it ready?"

Mirion grinned. "As I promised it would be."

With a bow, he turned away, stepped to a side cupboard, and withdrew the carved box that contained the necklace he had crafted from the drawing the young elven lord had given him. Setting the box before the young dark haired elf, he opened it, watching the youth's eyes all the while.

The gleam in the young lord's sea-grey eyes, and the grin that drew his mouth up, told Mirion well enough, even before his words, that he had pleased the young lord.

"It's exactly-" the young lord swallowed, "as I envisioned it, Master Mirion," he continued, and began to dig into his pouch, the welcome clatter of coins reaching Mirion's ears.

"Ah, no," Círdan protested, holding out a hand to stay the youthful elf. "The Valar know well enough that you have done enough labor on the lighthouse, Elros. Let me."

"But my lord," Elros protested.

"Come," Círdan continued, his voice such that it brooked no argument from the young elf. "Let me pay for this, and you will have enough to purchase for yourself, and for her, a fine pair of betrothal rings, yes?"

Mirion stood straighter at this. Of course if the youth were having such a fine gift made for the lady, he might be ready to ask for her consent to be his bride as well. But to his surprise, Elros seemed to sag at this.

"My lord, would it be wise? What if she doesn't-"

"Come now," Círdan cut the young elf off. "See, there is a pair of rings there." He pointed to the ring Mirion had only now been inspecting, and its partner beside it.

Elros drew in a deep breath and released it, glancing from Círdan to Mirion as if seeking for advice.

Mirion was now quick to speak. "Do you care for the lady, my lord?" he asked.

The youth's eyes became fixed upon his face as Elros said, without a moment's pause, "I love her, Master Mirion. With all that I am."

Mirion smiled at this, and not only for the profit he hoped to gain from it. "Then perhaps, my lord, you would do well to tell her so. I would wager there is a good chance she feels for you as you do for her."

Elros dropped his eyes at this, studying the necklace of mithril and pearl nestled in the wooden box. He lifted his eyes. "Very well," he said, reaching again into his pouch. "How much for that pair of betrothal rings?"

...oOo...

The sun hung low in the sky spreading its golden tresses over the water as it sank lower toward the sea.

Despite all that had happened over the past few days, and the bandage that still enwrapped her right hand, the merry mood upon the veranda was infectious, and Andreth found herself smiling despite the emotions that weighted and troubled her heart.

Upon one side of the veranda, a few of the servants sat with instruments in their hands, making the bright and merry music to which Andreth and the others in the middle of the floor, danced. Aelin was among the musicians playing her flute, and while her music was as bright and sweet as ever, she would not lift her eyes, no matter how many times Andreth tried to catch her gaze.

Andreth's heart hurt for her friend. Did Aelin not know that Andreth was not angry? That she had forgiven her? Andreth could not fathom the pain that Aelin felt over her sister's death, or her fury with Maglor for the part he had played in it. But she did know that Aelin had not meant to hurt her. Perhaps she would not have been able to bring herself to hurt Maglor, despite her anger. Andreth had seen the hesitation in Aelin's face and movements. She could have slain Maglor the moment she'd pinned him to the tree. But she hadn't. Andreth knew all this. Did Aelin not know she knew?

As the circle in which she danced swung around and she drew near to passing Aelin again, Andreth looked toward her friend, hoping once again to catch her eyes, to give her a hopeful, encouraging smile.

Not watching her feet, her steps stumbled. But beside her, Thranduil, her partner in the dance, tightened his hold upon her hand, his strong, sure grip, keeping her from falling.

"Are you all right?" he queried, and she looked up at him to offer him an apologetic smile. No one else but he had seemed to notice her mistep.

"I am fine, my lord," she murmured back, glancing down at her still bandaged right hand. "Forgive me. I was distracted. I have been trying to catch Aelin's eye."

Thranduil said no more, though he smiled, a silent, encouraging smile, before she spun under his arm, and he caught her at the waist to end the dance.

"Well done," he praised, stepping back, and offering her a gracious bow as the circle broke into merry chatter. "Your grace has much improved."

"Thank you, my lord," she said, returning his bow with her own curtsey.

"Andreth."

She looked toward Elrond's voice where he stood in the doorway that led into the inner hall of Círdan's house, standing to the side as groups of other elves, chatting merrily, were passing back inside through the door in groups of two or three.

Elrond held something in his arms wrapped in a cloth, and Andreth brightened, guessing at what it was, from the shape beneath.

"Farewell to you, lady Andreth," Thranduil said with a final nod, and turned away, falling in with a group of other young elves as they returned inside.

Thranduil clapped Elrond on the arm as he passed him, and Elrond returned the gesture, though his eyes quickly returned to Andreth, where she stood upon the veranda.

As he came through, Elrond's eyes turned to the side, where the musicians had been seated, and Andreth turned to follow his gaze.

Aelin still sat where she had been playing during the dance, her flute still in her hands. But the others were gone.

"How does your hand feel?" Elrond asked as he approached her.

"Fine," she returned. "I think it is nearly fully healed, though it twinges now and then when I try to use it too much."

"May I see?" Elrond asked, and Andreth nodded, holding out her wrapped hand.

Elrond set the harp he carried, for she knew that was what it was, upon the ground, and took her wrapped hand in his, careful as he untied the knots, and carefully unwound the bandaging, gingerly drawing back the last of the cloth to reveal her palm, a red, raw mark still visible upon it. It had only been two days before that Aelin had accidentally cut her with her envenomed knife.

When he had last wrapped it earlier in the day, Elrond had smeared healing sap over the wound, and the sap seemed nearly to have been all absorbed, and the wound itself much better.

"It is healing fast," Andreth remarked. "You are a most skilled healer, Elrond."

Elrond smile at this.

"Here, little sister," he said softly, producing, from a pouch at his side, a fat piece of leaf thick with the ooze of the healing sap gleaming upon it. Gently, he cradled his hand, and squeezed the leave, smearing the sap over the cut, his hand so gentle, that she barely felt any discomfort as the sap touched her yet raw flesh.

_Little sister_, he had called her. Andreth's heart was both pleased and pained at the words as Elrond gently wrapped the bandage once more around her hand. _Would that she could be_.

Where she sat, Aelin must have been aware that they were the only three left now on the veranda, but the elven woman only sat where she was, her silent flute in her hands, not lifting her head.

As Elrond finished binding her healing wound, he turned toward Aelin, then glanced back at Andreth, his eyes silently bidding her to help him.

Understanding his request, Andreth nodded.

"Aelin," she called, anxious, and Aelin lifted her eyes, stiffening a little as she saw the mortal maiden approaching her with Elrond not far behind, the elven lord having paused to retrieve the wrapped harp from the ground.

"Yes?" Aelin asked, shifting slightly as Andreth sat down upon the empty seat beside her. Elrond paused at Andreth's shoulder, still standing.

"I wanted- we wanted to speak to you," Andreth began tentatively.

"About-?" Aelin queried softly.

"The harp is repaired," Elrond offered, drawing the cloth back, and revealing Maglor's harp, restrung.

Aelin nodded, her face emotionless. "Fëanorion will be pleased when you return it to him."

"Also, I wanted-" Andreth began, then faltered. Elrond's hand upon her shoulder encouraged her. "I wanted you to know-"

"That you've forgiven me?" Aelin asked, her query faintly sharp.

"Well-" Andreth said as Elrond's hand tightened upon her shoulder, "yes, and also that- in truth, I never condemned you. I cannot know the pain you suffered when your sister died. And the anger you would feel toward those who caused her death."

"I nearly killed you, Andreth," Aelin said softly.

"You didn't intend-"

"It was my enemy who saved you." Aelin dropped her eyes. "My heart is torn. For I despise him, yet I know he is not wholly evil." She shot a glance up at Elrond's face. "I knew it before, but I did not see such for myself until you were hurt."

"Mistress Aelin," Elrond ventured now, "while Andreth and I see in Maglor qualities that endear him to us, I do not, and I know Andreth does not excuse what he did in trying to regain the Silmarilli."

Andreth reached out, and touched Aelin's arm with her hand. "Yes," she said. "And while I am glad for what Maglor taught me, also I am glad for what you have taught me. From my first coming here, you have been my friend, Aelin. You have been like a mother and a sister both to me. Can we not be friends as we have been? Can we not simply leave Maglor's fate in the hands of the All Father, and have peace in our own hearts?"

Aelin looked at her now. "Can my heart ever let go of its bitterness, its distrust, its wish for vengeance?" she said softly, yet she took Andreth's proffered hand.

"Mistress Aelin," Elrond murmured, and Aelin looked up.

"I want to be certain that the harp is in tune, yet I am not musically learned. Andreth knows, but her hand is injured. Would you-?"

Elrond held the harp out to her, and Aelin studied it, the hesitation obvious on her face.

"It is_ his_ harp," she said quietly.

"It is a harp, neither good nor evil of itself," Elrond said. "Will you play it?"

Aelin looked up at him. "I have not touched a harp since you were a tiny child, Elrond," she said. "Since before- before Indilwen died."

"Will you play it now, sister?" came a warm, and unexpected voice from the doorway.

Andreth turned at the new voice, seeing Gil Galad the king standing in the doorway.

As their eyes rested upon him, the high king stepped further out onto the veranda. "Will you play it, Aelin?" he asked again. "In Indilwen's memory?"

Aelin swallowed fiercely at this, her eyes fixed upon the face of Gil Galad, he who would have been her kinsman, had her sister not been slain. "I will, if you wish me to, little brother," she said, and turned her eyes on the harp in Elrond's hands.

Reaching out a tentative hand, she touched the soundboard. She ran her finger gently down its lengthy before she took the weight of it out of Elrond's hands. And settling it, set her hands to the strings. Softly, gently, she began to play.

...oOo...

Elros, his body weary, but with his heart beating nearly into his throat, stopped in the same moment that Círdan and Hathel stopped as the three of them climbed the hill leading toward the high white house on the bluff.

Their horses, led by their bridles, had quickened their pace, and Elros had to touch a hand to Nórui's neck to make him pause.

The sound of a harp, soft and sweet, came from the house, accompanied by a woman's voice, singing a tune fair and wordless, yet filled with light, like the voice of a stream.

Ai, he knew that voice well, the sound of it recalling to his mind the day after he had first met Andreth, and had heard her singing, unintentionally stumbling upon her only half dressed beside the pool where she had been washing her clothes, and the lady Firiel's. What a fair and welcome memory that was.

His reverie was broken though, by Círdan's good natured chuckle as the silver haired elf continued up the hill, still leading Celegben by the reins.

"Come my young friends, you'll not see the fair bird who is making that enchanting song if you stand there like two twin pillars of stone until the world is remade!"

At that, Elros turned his head and met Hathel's eyes, realizing that Hathel too, for that lingering moment, had been entranced by the fair voice of Andreth just as Elros had been.

As the eyes of the two men met, Elros noted the mortal's eyes narrow slightly, and his jaw tighten. At this, the tentative camraderie that had begun between them as a result of Lang's cold, dangerous looks toward Elros seemed to vanish like smoke upon a wind.

"Yes my lord," Elros said, Hathel's words echoing his in unison as the two men turned forward, and continued up the hill, clambering in their haste to reach the level bluff on which the house sat, and find the source of the fair voice that floated in the air all about them like the sweet voice of a Valië from across the sea.

...oOo...

As Andreth sang her sweet, wordless accompaniment, she watched Aelin's face, her heart growing full as the pleasure grew and brightened in her friend's eyes. She would never have guessed that Aelin had not played the harp in nearly a century, for her fingers moved over the strings with a grace that could have equalled Maglor's.

This was a song she had never heard before, a sweet, sorrowful tune, yet with a faint sense of hope in it as well, for which Andreth was glad.

She was almost sad when the song ended, the last notes of the harp quavering, and fading away in the evening air as her own voice eased and stopped.

"Well done, both you you," Elrond said, impressed.

"Indeed," Gil Galad agreed from where he stood. "My lady Andreth, I did not know you could sing with such skill."

"Like one of the Valiër," insisted a warm, breathless voice from the doorway.

Andreth's eyes flew to the door, at the welcome voice, her heart leaping in wild joy within her.

For here was Elros! Clad in dusty, plain garb, his tunic dusty, and damp with sweat, his chest heavingas if he had been running, but all of that was forgiveable for he was back!

She leapt to her feet, near to screeching his name in an abandon of pure delight, and flinging herself into his arms, when from behind him, rushing through the door onto the veranda in a near dead sprint, came Hathel, stumbling to a stop at the sight of her and her companions.

"My lady, Andreth," Hathel gasped, straightening himself up before shooting a glance at Elros, trading a sharp look with the elven lord. Hathel turned to the others now. "Your highness, my lord Elrond, mistress," he said between deep gasps, bowing in turn to Gil Galad, Elrond, and Aelin.

Andreth felt herself coloring. Even without Elrond's confession that his brother was in love with her, only the most dimwitted of fools would not discern that Elros and Hathel both desired her graces, and considered the other a rival for them.

"Master Hathel," Andreth breathed, aware that her breathing had suddenly quickened. "Lord Elros." As much as she wished not to hurt Hathel's feelings, her eyes were drawn irresistably to Elros, drinking him in as greedily as she would a pitcher of water after days in a desert. "You have returned." With effort, she tore her eyes back to Hathel, and dropped in a graceful curtsey to the two men. It is good to see you- both."


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

_"Master Hathel," Andreth breathed, aware that her breathing had suddenly quickened. "Lord Elros." As much as she wished not to hurt Hathel's feelings, her eyes were drawn irresistably to Elros, drinking him in as greedily as she would a pitcher of water after days in a desert. "You have returned." With effort, she tore her eyes back to Hathel, and dropped in a graceful curtsey to the two men. It is good to see you- both."_

...oOo...

Andreth dropped her eyes, studying the gown she wore, linen, cream colored, flattering the soft curves of her slender body. The embroidered throat of her gown clung delicately to her slender shoulders, scooping low below her delicate collarbones. Her long sleeves fluttered faintly in the gentle breeze that washed the veranda and that caught also at her long, honey brown hair which fell unbound about her shoulders save for a single white Tindómiel flower tucked in above one ear. She had not considered how she looked a moment ago, but now-

"Your journey was fair, I trust?" Gil Galad asked, his glance cast swiftly toward Andreth telling her clearly that he sensed her discomfort, and wished to help.

"It was, your highness," Hathel said. "I am- grateful for the help of Lord Elros, and Lord Círdan. We would be there still, if not for their assistance. Lord Círdan has tools that can cut through granite as easily as through wood."

"And where is Lord Círdan now?" Aelin asked where she sat beside Andreth.

Both Hathel and Elros shifted their weight uncomfortably and traded a guilty glance.

"He is in the stables seeing to our horses," Elros admitted. At last he lifted his eyes and met Andreth's. A quivering tension seemed now to fill the air between them, thickening, growing almost palpable, and Andreth's heart quickened, her blood stirring with a mingling of excitement and sorrow as it ever had since she and Elros had first met. Andreth felt her sinews tighten as she held herself back from rushing across the space between them, and throwing herself into his arms.

"We heard your music," Elros continued, his voice smooth and warm, "and Lord Círdan bid us come hear it better. He insisted that he see to our mounts."

"Good. I am glad he is back," Gil Galad said. "There were a few matters I wished to speak of, with him. I beg your leave, my lords." He offered a bow, and turned away starting for the door.

"I will come as well," Aelin said, to which Gil Galad turned and waited as she rose and moved toward him.

"And when you have a spare moment, it would perhaps, do me good for us to speak of our memories of Indilwen," she added more softly now as she took the arm he offered to her. "I know I have not spoken of her often before."

Gil Galad smiled faintly at this, and nodded to Aelin, the sister of the maiden he had loved. "I have all the time in the world to spare for that, dear sister," he said. "I think it would do us both good." The two of them stepped through the door into the house.

Andreth watched them as the shadows within swallowed them, then let her eyes trail to the stone tiles at the feet of Hathel and Elros.

Of the two men, Hathel was the first to speak. "I did not know you could sing so beautifully, Lady Andreth," he said, his words soft. She lifted her eyes to his. "Your voice is lovely."

"Thank you, sir," she returned, offering the mortal man a faint smile. She studied Hathel's eyes for a few moments. He_ was _kind to her, and handsome, but Andreth could not pretend that her heart felt the same stirrings it felt when her eyes met Elros'. Andreth swallowed. Elros already knew she could sing, she remembered, recalling how he had stumbled unwittingly upon her when she was washing clothes at the pool near Firiel's house. She had been clothed only in her thin shift, thinking no others were nearby. Noblehearted as he was, he had turned his eyes away when he had seen her thus attired, but not before his gaze had told her well enough that elf though he was, he had still been stirred by her beauty. She still remembered Elros' eyes that day. For while she had seen desire there, she had also seen tenderness, as clearly as she could see the smooth stones at the bottom of the clear pool. Even now the memory warmed her soul.

Her gaze now strayed to the dark-haired elven lord a few lengths away from Hathel. Elros' eyes had fallen, and despite his passions of a few moments before, his attitude now betrayed a willingness to let Hathel continue to have the first word.

"Tomorrow the Harvest Festival begins," Hathel continued, and her eyes shot again to his. He shifted his weight. "I had hoped you might be willing to accept me as your escort to some of the festivities."

Andreth felt her heart quiver within her. This was what he had intended to ask her, a week ago, though now it seemed like so many ages.

At her side, Elrond shifted his weight, but she dared not look at him. He knew of her heart, what it held. She did not love Hathel. She never could, for her heart was already lost. But to one to whom she dared not confess her love, fearing he would chose mortality if he knew she loved him.

Nevertheless, Hathel _was_ a good man. She was certain of it, and Andreth drew in a breath determined to be kind.

"Thank you, Master Hathel," she said, managing a smile despite her throbbing heart. "I am grateful for your offer. But I do not intend to promise myself to any one man during the Festival."

Hathel swallowed, and his jaw visibly stiffened. Andreth drew in a breath, praying that his hurt was not great.

"Though I hope that I will see you there," she continued pleadingly. "And I promise you now, I will save you a dance in the evenings."

Hathel's lips parted at this, as if he would speak, but he did not, and dropped his eyes, his aspect becoming much like Elros' did now. At last he managed a brave smile and lifted his eyes. "Then I shall look forward to the dances, my lady. Thank you."

Andreth returned his gracious nod with a slight curtsy of her own, knowing well that she had done little for which he should thank her.

"I, ah, should return down to the city," Hathel said. He made an effort to sound cheerful, but Andreth could hear the hollow tones in his voice. "If I do not go stop him, Círdan will have my horse curried, fed, and bedded down, and the poor creature won't want to come back with me."

He drew a deep breath, and released it brokenly before he turned away, and started for the door.

"I will come with you, Hathel," Elrond offered, catching up the harp, and hurrying after the young mortal. "I pray you stay at least for supper, my friend. No doubt you're weary beyond words-" Elrond's voice faded as the two men vanished into the inner chamber of the house. The door, whether by accident, or design, fell slowly shut behind them.

Andreth dropped her eyes, aware that she and Elros were now alone upon the veranda. Her heart thundered within her, and she wondered if he, with his elven senses, could hear it. She knew something now that she had not known the last time she had seen him, and spoke. For Elrond had confessed it to her that Elros was indeed in love with her. And the mere passage of a week's time would not cool his feelings or turn him to seek out an elven maid. Andreth knew that, and the thought thrilled her and filled her with sorrow at once.

His boots scuffed the stone tiles as Elros strode near. And though she wanted, with all her heart, to fling herself into his arms, Andreth remained where she was, and did not dare to lift her eyes.

Why did this elven man, beautiful as the stars, tall and strong as a Vala, but yet as real, and warm and kind as a true friend, love her, a mortal maid? What did he see in her that stirred his feelings?

"You have had a pleasant week, my lady?" he asked.

Andreth lifted her eyes, meeting his. Grey as the sea, and soft was his gaze. "It was eventful, my lord," she returned, lost in his eyes. How she wished she could lose herself to her desire to rush forward and embrace him!

"You need not be alarmed now, but-"

From behind the fold her her skirt where she had held it, she brought forth her bandaged hand.

Elros' brows rose.

"Andreth what happened?" Elros said, striding nearer to her, and cradling her bandaged hand in one of his own, as tenderly as if it were an injured bird.

Her heart jumped at what she saw now, in his other hand at his side. A flat wooden box, somewhat larger than his hand. What was in it? Her dream prince had told her that he would be bringing her a gift. A necklace that looked like the one she wore in the dreamland where she always found herself with her vision of Elros when she fell asleep.

Andreth swallowed stiffly.

"It is a long story, Elros," she said. "And would take much time to tell."

"I have as much time as you need to tell it," he breathed. "Will you come walk with me along the shore? Perhaps even to the cave?"

Andreth dropped her eyes. _Be strong_, she whispered in her thoughts. _Be gracious as you were to Hathel, and thank him for his kindness, but refuse him_.

"Oh, my lord Elros," she heard herself whisper, and her heart quivered even as bright joy lit Elros' face. "I would like that very much."

"Come, then," he offered, and took up her uninjured left hand, led her down the steps off the veranda, and toward the stone steps sloping down toward the water. His hand was warm, and strong, and her skin tingled with pleasure at his touch. But oh, what _was_ she doing to him?

...oOo...

Elrond folded his hands behind his back as he walked, the clatter of horse's hooves the only sound in the quiet as elf and mortal descended the hill from Círdan's house down toward the walls of Mithlond. One portion of the city, because of the rising cliffs that jutting into the bay, was already in twilight, and he could see sparks of lamps flickering one by one amongst the houses and towers below him.

He glanced askance at Hathel, whose steps were of one thoroughly dejected, his eyes down, his mouth set in a tight line.

_This is my fault_, Elrond thought to himself. _He fell in love with her, because of my encouragement. If I hadn't tried to push the two of them together as I did, he would not be so miserable_.

"This isn't your fault, you know, Lord Elrond," Hathel said at last, almost as if the mortal could read his thoughts. "It is mine. I should have expected such. What have I, to compete with your brother, after all? I saw the way she looked at him at our first meeting. I should have bowed gracefully away then, knowing I could not compete. Instead of letting myself begin to hope. If given the choice between sweet cake, and rough bread, what fool would take the bread?"

Elrond flinched at the mortal's bitter tone. "There's nothing wrong with you, Hathel," he said. "You're a good man. You work hard; you are trustworthy, you have an honorable, useful skill-"

Hathel snorted at this, his voice rough. "But I have no wife. No children. And I am nearly thirty years old. That may seem as nothing to an elf, but-"

"Someday you will-"

"What will you do," Hathel said, his voice grown thick and bitter, and his eyes shadowed, "if you return to Círdan's house, and find that your brother took her down to the seashore and wedded her in some- some copse of trees on the beach?"

At this, Elrond's feet stopped so quickly that his feet scraped to a halt. "_What_?" he demanded.

Hathel stopped as well. His jaw had grown tight, and trembled. He did not lift his eyes, but Elrond thought he saw wetness in them. "You heard me," Hathel grated. "I know the laws and customs of your people. It isn't unlawful for a man and a woman of your race, if both are willing, to wed one another simply by-"

"_What sort of man do you take my brother for_?" Elrond demanded. He was glad his hands were behind his back, else he would have taken the impudent mortal by the front of his tunic and shaken him. "_And Andreth, whom you claim to love and honor? What do you think of her, by saying such a thing?_"

Hathel stood his ground, face downcast, unmoved, though his jaw continued to tremble.

"It may not be unlawful, but to marry in such a way, is abominably contemptuous!" Elrond continued, his voice fierce. "And no man who truly loved a woman would ever even ask her to wed him in such a way. Not in a time of peace, as we have now! It _is_ a custom of my race, as it should be with yours, that if such a thing were to happen, they would be married indeed, to keep their foolishness contained-"

Elrond stopped, knowing he would only grow more agitated if he continued, and say wild, angry things he would later regret.

He drew in a swift breath and held it a long moment. "My brother would never dishonor Andreth in such a way," he said in a soft, though fierce voice. "Nor would she even dream of permitting it. Their respect for one another is too great."

He stepped closer to Hathel, who looked up only when he was a hand's span away. Hathel's face was angry and pained, his eyes wet with tears he was too proud to let fall.

A pang of pity smote Elrond's heart, helping to soften his words.

"I believe you to be an honorable man, Hathel," he said softly. "And I think you spoke the words you did out of pain, and frustration. But I will ask you, never to question my brother's honor again, nor Andreth's. For our friendship's sake, if nothing else."

"Then I suppose this is where we part ways," Hathel choked. He turned away. He spoke over his shoulder. "Tell Andreth that Elros can give her instruction in weapons, now. Doubtless that is what she wished from the beginning."

He continued on down the hill, his horse's hooves clopping obediently behind him.

"Hathel," Elrond called. "Don't be this way. Your life is not so bleak as it may appear." But the mortal did not turn, nor even acknowledge that he had heard.

...oOo...

"I suppose the story begins when you left the first day of the week," Andreth said with a sigh, her eyes down as her feet, bared of her slippers, pressed indents into the wet sand, leaving behind footprints that filled with water as she passed. Beside her, Elros' soft doeskin boots made only the barest of impressions in the wet sand. "I came down here alone, and as I walked along the shore, I heard music."

Elros' brows lifted as she looked to his face. His eyes too were upon the sand, his expression thoughtful.

"It was harp music, and it came from the cave you showed me." Andreth drew in a breath, her lungs filling with the sweet aroma of the sea. "So I went to the cave to see who the maker of the song was."

"Who was it?" Elros asked.

Andreth drew in another breath, and stopped. Elros' own steps paused, and he turned to face her.

"The harpist-" Andreth swallowed, "was Maglor."

Elros' expression widened into one of surpreme surprise and joy mingled together. "Maglor?" he gasped. "Is he still there?"

"No, he is gone," Andreth sighed. "He left this place after Aelin-" Andreth paused. "You know what happened to Aelin's sister."

Elros heaved a sigh, and nodded, clearly disappointed. Their steps resumed, the jutting cliff of stone growing ever nearer before them.

"Do not be angry with her, for it truly was an accident," Andreth began.

"I did not know he was Maglor at first, for he called himself Linnod. All I knew was that he was a very kindly, honorable elf, and that he was willing to teach me to play the harp. I could see in his eyes that there was no evil in him, and that I could trust him as I trust you. He said he did not plan on staying long, but that he would remain here near Mithlond for a few days for my benefit. And he did. When my hand is better, I will play for your, and show you what he taught me."

Elros smiled at these words, and nodded. "I would like that very much, Andreth," he murmured, his eyes fixed upon her face. "Please. Continue your story."

Andreth smiled and sighed. "Aelin despises the sons of Fëanor, and suspected something after I described my teacher Linnod to her. I went to find him the evening of the day before yesterday, for I had accidentally taken his harp with me. She followed me. I went first to the cave, but he was not there, so I climbed the hill to the top, and searched through the trees. I followed the stream, and at last I found him. He showed me a hollow tree where he stayed and rested when he was not teacing me. Elrond seemed to know of it, as you will see in a moment. I returned his harp, and we were talking, when Aelin came."

Elros hardly breathed, though she was conscious of his thumb brushing over the flesh on the back of her hand. His eyes showed that he was thoroughly engrossed in her words.

"Aelin threatened to kill him with a knife she had brought, and when Elrond came, riding upon Maidh, for the lady Galadriel had sensed that something was amiss, and sent him to help, I tried to take the knife from Aelin. But she accidentally cut my palm."

Elros drew in a sympathetic hiss of pain. "Perhaps that was why-" he muttered, but he fell silent, and nodded to Andreth. "What then?"

Andreth sighed. She did not wish for Elros to worry further, and decided to omit, for now, the story of the venom, and the athelas that Maglor had, which had saved her. "Maglor and Elrond treated my wound, and when they were done, they spoke to one another for a few minutes, but then Maglor went away. Elrond said he did not see him go. He turned his back only for a moment, and Maglor was gone."

"But that-" Elros said, struck with a sudden thought. He pointed up the slope of the grassy hill beside them "That harp that Aelin played, that Elrond took back inside- _that _was Maglor's harp!"

His eyes lit with sudden hope. "He would not stay away forever, without his harp! He will return for it."

Andreth smiled, for Elros seemed almost like a child in his hope. "He said he would," she agreed. "The strings were damaged, and Elrond promised to have it repaired. He said that Maglor had promised he would return for it."

"Good," Elros grinned. "Then I will see him."

Elros looked ahead, and Andreth followed his gaze. They had reached the rising bluff, and rounded the corner, the arm of the forest where it marched down the slope of the hill, nearly to the sea coming into Andreth's view.

Her uninjured hand tightened in Elros' as she studied the forest through which she could see now the waterfall and the pool, from which the stream at her feet issued, and the cave behind it. Her mortal eyes were not required to strain as they had the night she had first come here with Elros, now that the light of the setting sun gleamed behind her, shining through the trees of the forest in a bright, warm glow.

"The last time we were here, you bid me to carry you, for you feared the rocks would not be kind to your bare feet," he said, turning to her.

Andreth could see the hope in his eyes. And though she too wished for any reason she could find, to let him lift her into his strong arms, she smiled, and shook her head. "But since then, I have been this way many times, my feet bare, and I have been fine."

Elros grinned and ducked his head, playfully chagrined. "Of course," he said. "Come. You will love the way the setting sun shines through the sheet of the water and sets the walls to dancing in the red light of the setting sun. It is truly marvelous."

Wordless, Andreth followed him, her hand within his, as he led her along the path. She smiled as he looked back at her, even as uncertainty bit at her heart. She should not be coming this way. She should pull her hand from his, turn, and flee back the way they had come. What if the beauty he promised was as marvelous as she imagined? What if she was overcome by everything, and weakened, and told him she loved him? She knew he loved her, but he did not know of her own feelings yet, so there was still hope for him, wasn't there?

The clatter of the waterfall grew amplified as they entered the trees, and the stone path beneath them was kind to her feet.

On he led her, along the path through the trees, beside the stream that ran to the sea, and to the stones that bordered the deep, clear pool, and up, turning along the rocky wall and behind the waterfall.

"Ah, indeed," Andreth agreed as the cavern opened before her. Behind her, the face of the reddened sun, nearly touching the water on the horizon, shot a beam of light, straight as an arrow, through the wall of water, and the effect was just as Elros had promised, for the walls danced as if alive with red light. Her shadow, and Elros' cast by the sun streaming through the dancing wall of water seemed to flutter over the floor.

"It is just as beautiful as you say."

He grinned at her words, "I am glad you are pleased, Andreth."

Elros released her hand, and moved to the small table and chair, the same where Maglor had been seated when she first met him, and set the small box down upon the rough wooden surface. With his back still turned to her, he drew and released a breath. Then he turned, meeting her eyes where she stood near the sheet of water, and smiled.

"You are wearing one of the Tindómiel, in your hair," he said.

"Not for much longer, I fear," she answered, turning her eyes from his, and studying the smooth sheet of water. She reached out a hand, and touched the smooth sheet, breaking its perfection for a moment. The water broke over her finger, dividing one way, then the other. But as soon as she withdrew her hand, the smooth sheet reformed. "For the lady Galadriel says with autumn coming on, the flowers will soon be going to sleep for the winter."

"If you keep them in water, the blooms will endure all winter, until spring."

She turned her eyes to Elros, meeting his gaze. "May I ask you something, my lord?"

"Anything," he said, and his hand fell to the box, which he had yet to open.

"Did you leave the book outside my door the second night I slept here in Mithlond?"

"Yes, I did. I found it upon the veranda, and knew it was dear to you."

Andreth nodded at this, her lips parting slightly as her breath quickened an little. "And did you leave the cluster of Tindómiel outside the door of my bedchamber the first night I slept here in Círdan's house?"

He dropped his eyes to the floor. "Yes," he said, lifting his eyes again.

"I see," she answered as a whisper of sweetness stole through her soul.

"Did they please you, my lady?"

"They did, my lord." She paused. "Why did you, give them to me?"

Elros smiled, and glanced away again. "I wished to welcome you," he murmured softly. "To let you know we were glad you were here. And also-"

He paused, and Andreth took a step toward him. "Also-" she urged.

"Also, I must confess, I was somewhat- envious of Lord Hathel. I saw-" Elros cleared his throat. "I saw him give you the flower before he parted from your company late after supper. I supposed I wanted to-" he drew in a deep breath that swelled in his chest. "To- outdo him. To do more for you than he." A penitent look crossed his face. "It was a boyish, foolish reason, now that I think on it."

"The gesture itself was wonderfully kind, my lord," she said. "For so very long I did not know who left them. I hoped-" Andreth hesitated, fearing to speak the next words, though her heart wished the words to be spoken. "I had hoped you had been my benefactor. I was very honored by them. Thank you."

At her confession, Elros' face softened, and he placed a hand upon his chest, inclining his head to her. "I was honored to give them to you, my lady, Andreth Tindómiel."

At the sound of her name, spoken with the epessë he had given her only a week before, Andreth's legs trembled, and a hand went to her heart as she looked away from him.

"And now, my lady," he said with softened eyes, "I have another gift I wish to give you, which I hope you will like as well."

The soft creak of the lid drawing back, let her know he was opening the small flat box he had brought with him. She dared not look. She wanted to see the necklace she had worn in her dreams, and yet, for his sake, she did not want to.

For what would it mean if they had shared their dreams these past months? Such a marvel could only be the will of the Valar. Why would they do such a thing? Did they wish for her to wed Elros? But why? Surely the Valar knew that for Elros to love a mortal, could lead only to misery. Or perhaps not. If the Valar wished for them to wed, then surely good would come of their union. But then why did she fear to look at his gift? If the Valar wished for a love between Elros and Andreth to be, then their will was as Andreth's. Except that she knew she did not wish for him to choose mortality. She did not want him to die.

She lifted her eyes now, and met his gaze, studying the honed angles of his face, the gleam of his smooth, dark hair, and the captivating shape of his strong, lean body.

He should stay thusly forever, Andreth mused. Unchanging and beautiful, for all the ages of the world, not bent and shriveled as one of her own race before death siezed him. And that would be his fate, were he to choose mortality.

"Andreth Tindómiel, I pray you, take this gift as a token of my esteem for you," he murmured, and lifted, before she could look away from him again, the very necklace she had seen in her dreams, silver gleaming as if the light of the moon was captured in it, with a thinnest of silver wires twined round a tapered pearl. The very pearl he had shown her the first day he took her riding.

"Oh, dear Valar," she breathed as her heart stopped within her.

Then it was true.

She had to go before it was too late for him. She had to turn and flee from him, fly away down the path, over the sand, up the steps to Círdan's house, away through the woods, and along the forest paths, back to Firiel, back to the haven of her childhood home, so that she might save Elros from the fate of mortality.

"Do you like it?" he asked, his eyes pleading for her acceptance.

Andreth stayed where she stood, still, hardly breathing, as Elros held up the necklace in both his hands.

"May I put it on you?"

She met his eyes, fraught with adoraration he made no effort to disguise. Did he see the love in her eyes as well?

"It is beautiful," she breathed, and Elros smiled, and drew near until he stood a breath away.

Andreth did not move, though she closed her eyes, her body growing warm as she felt his hands slip about her neck, and beneath her hair. The soft warmth of his breath caressed her face, and her own breath quickened.

A soft click, and the latch of the necklace was fastened at the back of her neck, though he did not yet withdraw his hands. She looked down.

The necklace of pearl and gleaming mithril lay against the smooth flesh of her bosom just above the scooped hem of her collar just as it had in her dreams. But now it was real.

"_Tindómiel_," he breathed, and she opened her eyes, finding his face hovering so near above her own, that his lips were just a breath away from hers. "This necklace, fair maiden, daughter of Beldir of the house of Bëor, is but a token, a tribute to your beauty."

_Flee, now_, he mind told her. _Turn and leave him, if you wish to save him_.

Instead, Andreth drew in a breath. "Elros-' she whispered. She reached out a tentative hand, and touched Elros' chest.

In her distraction, the hand she raised was her injured hand, and she flinched slightly as a ragged pain knifed down her forearm from her palm.

"Your hand," he murmured, letting his eyes fall to the bandaging. he caught and cradled her hand tenderly. "It hurts?"

"Yes," she admitted. "A little."

"I am not as skilful in the healing arts as my brother, but I know a little. May I?"

"Yes," she answered, wishing not to lose the touch of his hands upon her own.

Gently, his free hand worked the knot undone, and he gingerly unwrapped her hand, drawing in a breath as the red mark upon her palm was at last revealed.

"My brother has done well, for a cut two days old," he said. "But perhaps there is something I can do-"

With that, Elros lifted her hand, and as he had done so often in their dreams, moved to press his lips against her palm.

"But-" she protested, and stiffened, fearing the sting of the touch against the still healing wound. But then, as his lips made contact with the red flesh, instead of pain, a wave of cool sweetness flowed through her hand from his lips, the faint pain that lingered there, fading at his touch.

"Tell me. Does this hurt?" he breathed, the warmth of his lips washing over the flesh of her palm.

"No Elros," she breathed, closing her eyes, and surrendering to the sweet feel of his lips against her skin.

"Now?" he asked, moving his lips gently over the line of reddened skin where the cut had once been, the pain fading away as if his lips were a balm from the Blessed Realm itself.

"There is no pain at all," she breathed as he finished, and he looked up, finding her eyes.

"Good." Elros' eyes searched hers, pleading with her as a man pleads for his life. "And now, I must tell you something, Andreth, before my very heart bursts with the unspoken words."

His eyes were so filled with pleading, that Andreth could not but ease closer to him, lifting her hand, upon which only a faint scar of red remained, to touch the warm, firm flesh of his jaw.

"Yes, Elros?"

"I love you," he breathed.

At the words, so soft and simply spoken, her heart burst in an ecstacy of joy and agony. Her hand began to fall away, but he caught it and held it, his eyes bright and pleading.

"All that you are I love, my beautiful Tindómiel, daughter of the morning twilight," he continued. "Your beauty, your form, your wisdom, and goodness, and I would choose not to be parted from you-"

She staggered a little, but he caught her arms, and held her, seeking her eyes, seeing, she was certain, her pain for him, within her soul.

"Tell me," he breathed, his soft breath teasing against her parted lips, "does this hurt?"

And gently, tenderly, but with an insistence that stirred her blood, Elros drew Andreth to him, and pressed his warm, sweet mouth against her own.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

"There, now, boy," Hathel murmured to his horse whose head bent over his manger of oats, munching contentedly. "There now, Aras," he continued, more for himself, than for the horse. In one hand he held the brush as he drew it over the rough brown coat, followed by the open palm of his hand, feeling the thick, wiry hairs as he smoothed his fingers over them. It was magic almost, how brushing his mount's coat could sooth his aching heart. The pain was not gone of course, for the truth remained that Andreth did not care for him. Not as he wished her to, at least. Perhaps he had been foolish, asking for her companionship during the Festival. He had seen her eyes straying constantly from him to the elf, and only returning to him with obvious effort. He had known what her answer would be before he had even asked. And though she had clearly rejected him, she had done so kindly, gifting him the offer of a dance every night, which was probably more than he deserved, for having put her in the awkward position he had.

"Good boy," he murmured.

The horse lifted his head from his manger and turn, nudging Hathel in the shoulder. He laughed, but it was short and without energy.

"There, I'll leave you to your dinner now, and your rest," he said. "You've earned it, and more."

Giving the horse a final pat on the neck, Hathel hung the brush on a hook upon the wall beside, then stepped out of the stable into the soft, blue twilight. The small yard that lay between him and the back door of his humble little house was fading into the purple of twilight as he moved across and pushed the door open into the deeper darkness of his lonely, empty house.

Pushing the door shut, he turned, and fumbled for the table where he would find the candle. Were he an elf, Hathel thought wearily, he could see without any difficulty.

Finally he found it, and as he struck the lighting instruments, and brought a single, yellow flame forth, Hathel dropped wearily to the wooden chair beside the table.

A loaf of bread and a small platter of apples were all that sat upon the table, and the loaf, having been left here a week before, was dry. Perhaps he should have taken Elrond's offer for supper after all.

Hathel sighed, and picked up an apple, bit into it, thinking of the warm, sumptuous repast he would have had at Círdan's house, and began to chew as he glanced about him at his humble kitchen. His house was small, but larger perhaps than he, an unmarried man, needed. He had hoped, when he had first met her, that one day Andreth, elven fair, mortal though she was, would grace these rooms as his wife. But he knew now that such a thing would never be.

He could not blame her for clearly favoring Elros. For what had he, compared to the elven man?

Elves were perfect. Or so they appeared to his lowly mortal eyes. How often had he passed a fair elven woman in the street, and been distracted by her loveliness before coming to himself again? More times than he wished to admit.

Elros, Hathel knew, swallowing the bitterness of the truth of it, was superior to him in everything. Stronger, wiser, more manly- all that Andreth could want. He would probably even be a better lover.

At that thought, Hathel drew back his arm and flung his half eaten apple, which smashed against the wall and exploded before he shoved himself away from the table and rose to his feet.

He snatched up his candle, and paced into the next room. A small sitting room, bathed in darkness but for the candle's glow. Even in the dim light, it was obvious that this was the dwelling of an unmarried man, the furnishings sparse and plain.

He regretted his outburst, now. His mother, had she not died in his tenth year, would have been disappointed at his terrible behavior.

If he loved Andreth, his mother would have said, he would let her go without bitterness. Without foolish, childish words and uncouth accusations flung about like splattered apples.

Hathel dropped into a wooden chair, hard and comfortless, and set the candle on a table at his elbow. If he loved Andreth truly, his mother would have said, he would wish first for her happiness before his own. Elros, thought that way, Hathel admitted, recalling their conversation about her on the road to the quarry.

If Andreth had chosen Hathel over Elros, Elros would have accepted it, and let her go for the sake of her happiness, no matter the pain of his own broken heart.

Hathel regretted now his words to Elrond as the elf walked with him down the hill, the jealous rantings he had spat in his bitterness and sorrow. His words were unjust and unfair, and if he could unsay them, he would. Elros was an honorable man. He was not such a man as Hathel had accused, and Andreth was not such a woman.

Hathel's throat tightened at the thought. He could not have fallen in love with her if she was.

At this thought, Hathel dropped his face into his hands, and began to cry.

...oOo...

Andreth did not wish to think as Elros' lips moved softly over her own, tentatively, shyly. His hands, still supporting her arms, tightened as he eased her a fraction closer to himself. Her hands, of their own accord, had found his chest, feeling beneath her palms the fierce and wild throbbing of his heart. Through the cloth of his tunic she could feel the tension of his muscles. He was holding himself back, she realized. His arms wanted to crush her to him. He wanted to kiss her much more deeply, much more fiercely than he did now. But he was restraining himself for her sake.

This thought tore her heart all the more. Even as the sweet agony coursed through her, she could not help but love him even more for his tenderness and restraint, reveling in the sweetness of his lips, and the warmth of his body so close to her own, knowing that it could not last.

"Andreth," Elros murmured at last, his voice grown deep and warm, drawing back a fraction, his mouth still tantalizingly close to her own. "I have never kissed a woman before today. I hope that I pleased you."

The touch of his lips against her mouth had been brief and sweet, and now his eyes searched hers with the same sweetness with which his lips had searched hers. The light of the sunset through the sheet of water beside them flickered off the walls and over his face as if it wished to share in the fleeting sweetness of this moment.

One of his hands rose, his fingers gently caressing her throat, before rising to cradle her jaw. "My fair Tindómiel," he whispered. "You are beautiful. More than the tongues of men or of elves can say."

He drew back from her a pace, his hands falling to clasp her own as he lowered himself to one knee before her.

Andreth felt frozen where she stood, unmoving but for the rise and fall of her breathing.

Elros lifted his eyes to hers. "But it is not only your beauty that draws me to you, Andreth. My soul yearns for your soul as it has never yearned for anything." He drew a breath into his chest, and finished in a fierce whisper, warm with restrained desire. "And I desire nothing else more than to bind myself to you as your husband, and to take you as my wife."

From a pouch at his side, Elros withdrew two small silver objects, rings, she realized. Andreth's lips parted as a thrill of longing and of fear washed over her body. Betrothal rings.

"I have lived for nearly a century, but suddenly a year seems an impossibly long time. Even so, fair Tindómiel, will you accept this ring, and with it, my oath as your promised husband, that we will be wed, one year from today?"

Into the palm of her scarred hand, Elros placed a small silver ring. It would fit her finger perfectly, were she to put it on, she noted. Andreth's heart shuddered, and forced her hazy thoughts into order. "But I am mortal-"

"I care not for that," he insisted, a soft fierceness entering his voice. "I am _Peredhel_. Even if I were not, I would still love you, and desire you as my wife, come what may. As it is, I am blessed with a most wondrous gift, Andreth, and I choose-"

"You have not asked me my will!" Andreth cried, tearing her hands from his, suddenly remembering the doom that hung so dangerously over him. She crushed her hands into fists. He had almost spoken the words that would have doomed him!

She turned away, pressing her hands to her heart. "May I be cursed to the abyss for my selfishness! For doing what I have done to you!" she cried, her heart shattering into spinters as she spoke the lie that would save his life. "I care for you, Elros, but I do not love you!"

She staggered away from him, away from the silence behind her that stabbed into her back like a knife. She pressed a hand to the wall of the cave, struggling to remain on her feet, though she could not, and crumpled to her knees, unable to restrain the wild sobs that came forth. "I am sorry!" she managed between wrenching sobs, the words filled with more meaning than she dared let him know. "So very sorry!"

She dared not look at him for the shame and the agony that weighted her down, like a crushing boulder. Would that she could be crushed, Andreth thought as her sobs continued, unabated, for what she was doing to him. Would that she could be stamped out, body and soul, for his sake, so that his heart could be free to love an elven maid.

Foolish Valar, for giving them both such beautiful dreams, for goading him into loving her! Did they not know that Elros was willing to die for that love? Did they not know that he would do the world so much more good, were he to stay upon it, and live forever, always strong, always youthful, always beautiful?

"Elros," she choked, her voice ragged with sorrow, and secret longing. Weakened, she sagged against the rough wall of stone. "I am so- so very sorry!"

A gentle hand touched her back.

Andreth's mind flew back in time to the day they first met, when she had been crumpled on the ground, bent over, overwhelmed by the understanding that she had nearly been ravished, her maidenhood saved at the last moment by the elven lord Elros, and his bright blade. He had touched her back so gently then, just as he did now, thinking of nothing else but of helping her.

"Do not be."

Elros' voice, weak and broken now, but still strong, sounded softly at her shoulder.

Andreth lifted her tear blurred eyes.

Elros had drawn near. He was kneeling upon the ground at her side, his eyes filled with misery and confusion, but also compassion. As their eyes met, he withdrew his hand, and let it fall to his knee.

"Do not be sorry. For _I_ misunderstood," he breathed. "I thought I felt something between us. I thought you loved me in return. _I_ am the one who should be sorry, Andreth. I should have realized last week, when I tried to kiss you, and you did not let me."

He dropped his gaze, and a tear fell from one eye, splashing upon the back of one of his hands which were braced against his knees. "I had hoped so desperately that there was some other reason you withdrew from me. I was wrong."

"Elros," she breathed. "I wish us to be friends. I do not want that to stop."

"We are," he answered quickly, he reached out, tentatively, and touched her shoulder. His touch was both sweet and agonizing, but still Andreth allowed the contact. "And our friendship will never end; that I promise you."

She turned to him now, fully, her heart bursting with love and with misery, as she studied his grieving, penitent face.

"Will you be- alright?" she pleaded, lifting a hand, and gripping the wrist of his hand that held her shoulder.

"I will be well enough," he murmured, struggling to smile bravely. "So long as I know that you think kindly of me, and count me a friend. So long as we gaze upon the same stars."

Andreth dropped her eyes. Her ragged breaths had not yet eased, and upon her bosom the necklace of mithril and pearl rose and fell.

"I should return this to you," she began, reaching her hands up to undo the clasp. But before she could reach behind her neck, Elros' hand gently took her wrist, drawing it back.

"No," he pleaded. "It was a gift. I beg you, keep it."

Her hands fell to her lap at this, and Elros took them up, pressing them between his own warm hands. "I would never wish to give it to any other."

Her eyes studied his a long moment.

Elros drew in a ragged sigh, and lifted a hand, touching her cheek with the softest brush of his fingers. "Your eyes are green, like new grass," he breathed.

"Oh, Elros," she cried, and at last Andreth did what she had longed to do since he had returned, and flung herself into his arms, burying her face against his warm neck. She knew that now he would interpret the gesture as only the embrace of a friend, and that was how it should be, to save him.

He could not know that with every throb of her heart pounding against his own, that her love for him was renewed, that it broke with his sorrow, and ached that she could not tell him the truth.

His arms went around her waist in turn, pulling her more firmly against him, and she felt his face bury in her hair. His scent was musky sweet, and painfully alluring, reminding her of an autumn forest at night. She could feel him crying softly against her.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

The sun had set some minutes before, the flaming tresses of her hair that spread across the sky slowly fading as Elros and Andreth, arm in arm, slowly ascended the steps to the veranda.

Andreth's heart had become a great weight within her, and only the warmth of Elros beside her, the strength of his arm in which her hand rested, kept her feet moving.

Oh, how selfish she was, Andreth thought to herself, knowing she depended on Elros for her strength, when surely his suffering must be much greater than her own. He was certain she did not love him, though she knew she did, and she knew his true feelings for her.

Yes, she had lied to save his life, to help him remember that immortality was his destiny, not a mortal life that would end, inevitably with death, simply because of his love for a mortal woman.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the clap of a book shutting, and she slowly lifted her head.

"Elrond," Elros said, noting his brother, seated upon a bench near the wall of the house, but who at their appearance, rose and came striding toward them, a smile of greeting and of worry playing across his lips.

Elrond reached out a hand, and clapped a hand upon Elros' shoulder, studying his eyes, seeking for- she knew not what.

"Elros? You are- well?" Elrond asked, his eyes now trailing to Andreth, then just as quickly moving back to his brother again.

"I am," Elros answered, though his voice broke as he spoke. He managed a weak smile. "So long as this fair friend thinks kindly of me, I will be."

Elrond eased back, satisfied by one thing, but now distressed by another, perhaps his brother's bleak tone.

Beside her, Elros turned slightly, and Andreth lifted her eyes, meeting the gaze of the one to whom she had lost her heart, irrevocably, yet to whom she dared not confess that glorious, tragic truth.

"I leave you now in my brother's care, my fair Tindómiel," he said, withdrawing his arm, and dropping down a step. "I will stay out under the stars, for I have much to think on-"

"Elros," she murmured, reaching out a hand. "Let me stay with-"

"No," Elros said, his tone firm but gentle. He drew back a step. "I wish to be alone under the stars for a time." He held out a hand to stay her, for Andreth had moved to step after him.

"Promise me a dance during the Harvest Festival?"

"Of course, Elros," she promised. "One every night." She tried to smile, fighting to keep the tears from her eyes.

She felt a warm hand at her elbow, and looked up to see Elrond. The soft scuff of boots turned her back, and Andreth watched in silence as Elros dropped down the last steps to the ground, and turned away, striding alone, around the side of Círdan's house.

"What happened?" Elrond asked beneath his breath as his brother disappeared.

For a long moment Andreth stood still and silent, gazing at the corner of the house where Elros had disappeared, envisioning his tall form, strong and sturdy, yet with bent head, striding away from her, his long dark hair catching faintly in the evening wind.

She wanted to cry out, to fly after him, to fall to her knees, and beg him to forgive her for her untruth, and to explain why she had done as she had. But she did not.

"He told me he loved me," Andreth whispered. "He kissed me, and this time- I allowed it."

Elrond said nothing, though his hand tightened faintly at her elbow.

"But then when he gave me this, and asked me to marry him, I realized-"

Andreth stopped. Her hand lifted, and she opened her palm. The red mark still marred it, though the pain was gone. And within the center of her scarred palm, lay the silver betrothal ring Elros had given her. In her distress, she had kept it.

Andreth choked on a sob, and Elrond moved fully to face her, taking both of her arms as if he feared she would fall.

"A betrothal ring," Elrond murmured.

She closed her fingers around the silver ring, and looked up at Elrond, his face and eyes so like his brother's, though so different.

"I lied to him," she answered, blinking to clear her swimming vision. "I told him I did not love him."

"Oh." Elrond released her arms and turned away, a hand going to his head, though whether the gesture was one of sorrow or of relief, she could not say.

"And how are you, Andreth?" he asked in a broken voice.

"My heart is shattered," she choked. "I wish-"

Elrond turned back to her, his eyes fraught with compassion.

"I wish I had never come here," she finished. "I have caused him so much-"

"No," Elrond said, coming back to her, and gripping her shoulders in his hands. "You came here for a reason-,"

Elrond looked away, his chin trembling.

"What if the Valar wish you to be together?" Elrond said, looking back at her, his voice choked. "What if it is their will that he choose a mortal life, and that he share that life with you?"

Andreth touched her free hand to the pearl necklace at her throat. Her reminder that her shared dreams with Elros had been real. "Then the Valar are fools," she muttered. "If he can live forever, he should. I will not take that gift from him!"

Elrond was silent a long moment, and Andreth looked up at last to search his face.

His eyes were soft, neither excusing her, nor condemning her for her words.

The light had faded much since she had first ascended to the veranda, and as a chilled breeze brushed her shoulders, Andreth shivered.

"You are cold, little sister," he murmured, and came to her, putting his arm about her shoulders. "Let me take you inside."

Andreth said nothing, but as Elrond tightened his arm, she let him lead her toward the door, and through into the slowly dimming hall of Círdan's house.

...oOo.

..

The swift pounding of running feet darting up the steep hill past his door woke Hathel with a jerk where he sat slumped in his wooden chair.

He shook his head, and looked at the candle at his elbow, burt halfway down, a small lake of wax pooled in the base of the silver candleholder. It must then be the middle of the night.

Why would anyone be darting through the streets at such a pace at this hour, unless going to fetch a midwife or healer-

"Hrm, none of my concern," he mutter, and roused himself, pushing his stiffened frame to his feet, and picked up the candle. But then the steps came again, still running, but now coming down the hill, and just as swiftly, increasing in sound as they neared, then swiftly decreasing before they reached the bottom of the hill. But then, to Hathel's consternation, the footsteps turned about not far from his door, and surge back up the hill again. Now as he thought on it, listening to the nearing and fading of sprinting feet, the sound had been repeating itself for some time in his unconscious mind. Someone, perhaps for hours, had been running up and down the hill outside his door before the sound had finally woken him.

"What sort of fool-"

Hathel pushed his door open, and looked out into the street. It was empty. But not for long, for as he stood there in his open doorway waiting, sure enough, down the hill before his door, an elf came running, swift as the wind, flying so quickly past Hathel's door, that the passage of air blew out his candle.

"My lord!" Hathel called, and the shadowed form, indistinct to him in the dim, moonless night, staggered to a stop that even in the dim light of the stars, Hathel could see was a rather graceless halt for an elf. The elven man, turned toward him, gasping, and dropped his hands to his knees, bracing himself in obvious exhaustion.

"Hathel?" the elf gasped in a breathless, exhausted voice. "What-" the rest of his query was interrupted with a prolonged spell of coughing, and Hathel narrowed his eyes, scowling. The figure was either Elrond, or Elros, and he would hazard a guess that it was the younger of the two. Had he known the fool running about the streets of Mithlond was Elros, he would have gladly let the idiot run himself into exhaustion instead of stopping him.

"What are you _doing_?" Hathel demanded.

The elf straightened and drew near. Hathel drew back, scowling at his shadow, and knowing that Elros, if that was indeed who he was, could see more of him than he could of the elf.

"Running," the elf said, still gasping, his hands against his hips, his legs trembling beneath him like jelly.

"I can see that," Hathel hissed. "Why in the name of sanity would you be doing such a thing in the middle of the night, Elros?"

Elros shrugged, not seeming to notice or care that Hathel had addressed him so informally as he stopped near the young mortal, and studied him through the darkness. Hathel tried to return the stare, though he could not make out Elros' face. "I suppose," he said between breaths, "that it is a foolish attempt to try to rid myself of the pain."

The emptiness of Elros' tone beneath the labor of his breath caused Hathel to feel a pang of pity in spite of himself.

"What pain, my lord?" Hathel asked, remembering Elros' rank once again.

Elros paused a long moment, his breath slowing gradually. "She told me no," he said.

"You asked her to-" Hathel prompted, knowing he need not ask the name of the lady of whom Elros spoke.

Elros said nothing, but Hathel could see by his silhouette, that his gaze dropped to the stone at his feet.

"Would you like to come in a moment, and rest my lord?" Hathel asked as he stepped back, and gestured into the dark interior of his house.

Wearily, Elros nodded. "I cannot see a reason to refuse," he said, and obeyed Hathel's gesture to enter.

To Hathel's eyes the room was nearly pitch black as the door fell shut behind his back, though Elros did not seem to need to grope at all. Hathel returned to his seat, and fumbled for the lighting instruments, finally striking a light that caught on the wick of his half burnt candle.

"Please, my lord, sit," he said, nodding to a wider seat opposite from him, which Elros dropped into gratefully, his features now visible in the light of his single candle which Hathel set now beside him again.

In the light, Elros' face looked drawn in exhaustion and in grief. The front of his tunic was damp with sweat, and his chest still rose and fell, not fully recovered from his strenuous exertion. What had happened to the elf?

"What did you ask Andreth, my lord?" Hathel asked.

"To marry me." Elros muttered. Hathel's mouth fell open. "I even offered her a betrothal ring-"

Elros touched a pouch at his hip, and looked down, a thought throwing him off briefly before he looked up again.

"She refused you?" Hathel choked.

""She told me she didn't love me," the elf muttered, despondent.

"And you _believed_ her?"

Elros heaved a breath and dropped his eyes. "Why would she be untruthful about such a thing? She saw how bitterly her words hurt."

"_I_ don't know," Hathel said, heaving a frustrated breath. "But she would know, my lord. Whatever her reason, I am certain she saw it as for your good."

Elros heaved a deep breath. "No," he muttered. "The only hope she gave me, was much like the offer she gave you. A dance each night of the Festival. We are on equal footing, you and I."

Hathel drew in another breath. "If we are indeed on equal footing as you say, my lord," he said, sitting up straight, "then I propose a wager."

Elros' eyes jerked up at this. "Wager?" he echoed uncertainly.

"Yes, a wager. During the festival, there are many and varied sorts of contests during the day, games, mock combat, and such things. Let us make a wager that we will compete one with another in one of these contests, and if you win, my lord, you may be the first to ask Andreth to dance with you every day of the festival when the night comes, and the dancing begins. And if I win-"

"Then you will be the first to dance with her," Elros ventured.

"Not only that, my lord," Hathel cut in, holding out a hand to stay him. "I am not ignorant to the truth that you are superior to me in strength and skill, and I would beg an additional reward for me, if by some chance, I do win."

Elros narrowed his eyes. "That would be-"

"That if I win, you must _also_ agree to ask her why she refused you."

Elros scowled. "I _know_ why she refused-"

Hathel snorted at this. "I do not think you do, my lord."

Elros' jaw tightened, and his eyes fairly blazed. "You are not even half my age, Hathel." He insisted, thrusting to his feet. "I have seen more, know more, and have done more than you have, twice over! And I can best you at any contest put before us."

"Then what is holding you back?" Hathel said with a smirk, rising and holding out his hand in offering.

"Nothing," Elros insisted, and strode forward, clasping Hathel's proffered hand. His grip was firm and heated, and Hathel had to struggle not to wince. "_We have a wager_," the elf said between his teeth.

...oOo...

"Here," Elrond said, coming to Andreth's side where she sat upon a divan against the wall of Elros' room, looking westward over the sea, and the sky, hung with diamond stars that lowered to the horizon. Out of one corner of the window, she could see the black rolls of land and hills, and knew her old home and Firiel were somewhere there, far away.

Elrond handed her a small chalice of sweet wine, and Andreth took it with grateful, uplifted eyes as he dropped in the seat beside her and gazed out the open doors, looking westward as she did.

To her left, a warm fire blazed in the fireplace, warming her back, competing with the cold wind of the autumn night that flowed through the open doors. Andreth sighed at this, and snuggled deeper into the shawl Elrond had given her.

"I have often wondered," Andreth murmured, "what I would see if I boarded a ship, and sailed beyond that point."

She pointed to the line where the deep blue of the sea met the sable blanket of the star washed sky.

"I often feel a similar yearning in my own heart," Elrond said with a sigh, taking a sip from his own cup. "Though I think my time is far in the distant future. I have too much to do here on these shores."

"But you _will_ go to the Blessed Realm one day. I will not," Andreth said. "I am mortal."

Elrond nodded to this, silent, and took another sip.

"Why would my heart want to sail away from these shores, then?"

"There is no sin in wanting to see beyond the horizon," Elrond said.

"But there would be, in my wishing to go to the land to which my race is forbidden. What but water lies between these shores and the Blessed Realm?"

Elrond shook his head. "I do not know. Nothing, that I have heard of."

Andreth sighed, and nodded, taking a sip from her own cup. She did not wish to drink very much. She wanted to be able to think, despite the ache that throbbed in her heart.

"Elrond," she said softly.

"Yes?" he asked, turning his head to look at her.

"I want Elros to see the Blessed Realm one day." Andreth said with a sigh.

"So do I," Elrond said with infinite gentleness. "But perhaps what we want, is not the will of the All Father, or of the Valar. And those who fight against their wills face much difficulty. You know the story of Fëanor."

Andreth winced at this, recalling her exclamation that the Valar must be fools, if their will was that Elros choose mortality.

"I hope he comes back soon," she said with a sigh, curling her legs up, upon the divan, and resting her head upon the cushioned arm. Carefully, she set her half fill cup upon the small table at her head.

"He will," Elrond said. "So long as he knows he will see you, he will come back."

Andreth smiled softly at this, and curled her arm beneath her head, her gaze fixed upon the stars she could see beyond Elros' balcony, determined to remain awake until he returned, though she could already feel her eyelids growing heavy.

After a moment, Elrond, smiling, rose, and silently stepped away. Andreth did not hear him go.

...oOo...

Elros' legs felt like numb blocks of wood beneath him as he trudged down the corridor that would lead him to his room. In his fist, he held a single tindómiel, the last of the blossoms before the vines went to sleep for the winter. Wearily, he pushed his door open, and stumbled inside, hoping that exhausted as he was, he would sleep without dreaming. Seeing his dream maiden now, would only be painful for him, now that Andreth had told him she didn't love him, even with the faint glimmer of hope that Hathel, his should-be rival had given him- _Did she care for him more than she wished him to believe? Had Andreth- lied? Why would she? To protect him somehow?_

Why had he agreed to the wager? Hathel's words had infuriated him, and intrigued him at the same time, and had goaded him into agreeing to the bet. Why had Hathel done it? He could just as easily have poured salt into Elros' wounds, and asserted himself as Andreth's newest suitor where Elros had failed. But he had not. Why hadn't he? What was in the wager that would benefit Hathel? Did he have some secret motive, or was he simply acting out of a sense of honor? Perhaps Hathel was not so great a knave as Elros had once thought.

Elros halted as the door fell shut behind him, and his thoughts came back to the present, and the intangible change in the air of his room. There had been a fire going, burnt down now to cinders, but that was not it. The balcony was open, and that, perhaps-

He strode through the darkness of his chamber, and caught the doors, closing them, shutting out the wind, and the chill of the approaching winter.

Still, there was something more-

Elros turned, something drawing him to do so, and his heart fairly stopped within his chest. For there she was. Curled in a shawl, Andreth lay upon his divan, like a sleeping goddess, her feet bare, her legs curled upon the divan, and her arm cushioning her head against the arm of the seat. Her honey brown hair tumbled unbound about her shoulders, the folds of her cream white gown glinting in the dying light of his fire. The cloth at one shoulder had crumpled and fallen slightly, baring her delicate shoulder. Her lids lay closed over her eyes, enhancing the beauty of her sleeping face. About her neck, she still wore the gleaming necklace of mithril and pearl he had given her.

The soft rise and fall of the necklace against her fair skin as she breathed warmed his blood, and Elros, like Thingol, froze as one entranced.

"Oh, fair Tindómiel," he breathed into the silence of his room, "why are you here?"

Slowly, he approached her where she slept, then lowered himself to one knee at her side. Gently he reached out, and slid the small tindómiel behind her ear before he withdrew his hand, gently trailing his finger over the delicate, shapely curve of her ear. She stirred, but did not waken. _Ai_, how he longed to bend his head, and kiss the intriguing curve of her ear, the closed lids of her eyes, or- peradventure, to brush his lips gently against the naked curve of her shoulder, tasting the smooth sweetness of her skin- His blood pulsed thickly at this thought.

"Andreth," he murmured, touching his hand to her soft cheek.

She smiled and stirred, turning into the warmth of his hand, and gradually opened her eyes.

As her eyes met his, a weary smile brightened her face.

"Oh, my lord," she breathed, and lifted a hand, cupping his cheek. Elros closed his eyes, losing himself in the feel and warmth of the unexpected, but welcome touch. "I did not think I would see you tonight. I had been sleeping without dreams-"

Her hand froze and withdrew, and Elros' eyes flew open.

Andreth's own eyes had widened, and she sat up quickly, looking around. "I am awake?" she demanded.

Elros sat back on his heels and studied her sitting up now upon his divan, clearly distressed, but just as beautiful as before; her disheveled hair falling loosely about her shoulders, the gown at her shoulder still fallen alluringly askew. If he could only but _touch _the silken softness of her shoulder-

"Oh, Elros, I fell asleep." Andreth's voice was soft as a gentle breeze, and he lifted his eyes to her face, drinking in the shine in her soft green eyes. "I was waiting for you, but-"

She drew in a ragged breath. "I should go to my own chambers," she murmured.

At her words, Elros rose, and offered her his hand.

A faint flush touched her cheeks, yet she accepted his hand with a faint smile.

"Thank you, my lord," she murmured, rising to her feet, and drawing closer to him with a small step.

"Thank _you_, my lady," he returned. "For waiting for me. It reminds me that you do care-"

Elros swallowed, watching her cheeks color as she turned her eyes down. "I do," she confessed, "care- for you. More than I can say."

_More than she could say_? His heart jumped at the possible meaning behind the words. His eyes fell to her yet bare shoulder. Long he contemplated it, studying the fair, pale skin, the gentle curve of flesh, the delicate bones beneath. The soft pulse of her blood moved beneath her throat, quicker, Elros thought, than was its wont. _More than she could say-_ What would she do, Elros wondered fleetingly, if he bent his head, and kissed the soft curve of her shoulder? Would she melt into his arms, gasping in ecstacy, and confessing her long hidden love for him- or would she push him away, offended at his actions?

Elros swallowed. Gently, he reached out, caught the embroidered edge of her gown's collar, and without touching her skin, drew the fabric back up into its place, veiling her fair shoulder.

"You honor me, lady, by wearing my gift to you," he said, daring to touch the pearl where it rested against her skin.

Her breathing quickened, and Elros' heart jumped, wondering, hoping. He withdrew his hand, and let it fall to his side.

"You honored me, lord, by gifting it to me-" Andreth's hand lifted and self consciously touched the cloth he had adjusted. "It is beautiful."

"It is not as beautiful as you are, Andreth," he whispered, seeking for some hint or sign that his feelings were echoed in her.

The mortal maiden dropped her eyes, her face flushing.

"Dear Elros, I-" she said, faltering, "must go."

Without looking at him again, she turned, and moved to his door, opened it, and flitted out into the hall, shutting the door behind her back.

For a long moment, Elros contemplated the closed door.

On the morrow, he and Hathel would engaged in some- contest of strength or skill- he knew not yet what it would be. If he was the victor, he would win the first dance with Andreth. If he lost, Hathel would win the first dance, and, as he had agreed by clasping Hathel's hand, he would ask of Andreth the truth of her feelings for him. All this, with the assumption that her current claim that she did not love him, was not true.

Elros drew in a breath and dropped his eyes.

Perhaps, he thought to himself as he turned and strode toward his wardrobe across the room, peeling his sweat dampened tunic off, and welcoming the feel of the warm air against his bare chest, perhaps he should _let_ Hathel win.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Throughout the rest of the city, bright music rang, and laughter and singing echoed through the streets. But where Elros stood not far from the banks of the River Lhûn near the great arena that would soon be filling with the citizens of Mithlond, the merry sounds were only distant. His heart was thudding too fiercely to feel light at the moment. Its fierce throbbing only increased when he looked down into the narrow wagon waiting outside the gate of the arena where eight practice swords lay in a row. Perhaps after his bout was concluded, then his heart would lighten and ease, and he could feel merry. He was guaranteed a dance with Andreth, whether he won or lost, and that would be something to anticipate.

He smiled as he thought of her, even as he reached into the narrow wagon, and picked up one of the blunted blades. These were the sparring blades that he and the other men, eight of them in all, would be using as they fought to first blood. The blade gleamed as he examined it, casting back his own reflection. But he was not seeing his own face in the blade, but rather Andreth's face in his mind. Her eyes that seemed so deep and soulful. So warm, and filled with- tenderness that he had thought had grown into more than friendship these last few months. Even now, though her words had said otherwise, he still remembered the look in her eyes last night when she had woken from sleep upon his divan, and had gazed up into his eyes through the muted light of the dying fire. What _had_that softness in her eyes been, if not love?

Elros sighed, and brought himself back to the present. He spun the sword in his hand, testing its weight, then narrowed his eyes as he faced his imaginary opponent, spinning the blade in his hand to slash a scratch across the chest of his nonexistent foe.

"Are you trying to intimidate me?" a voice said behind him. "Because it isn't working."

He turned to see Hathel striding up, clad in the same nondiscript tunic and breeches he wore himself. The young mortal picked up a blade, and spun it in his own hand, slashing upward across the skin of his own imagined adversary.

"My greater skill is in hunting, I admit that," Hathel said. "And in the use of the bow, but I am not incompetent with a sword. I think you will find me surprisingly formidable, my lord."

"Indeed?" Elros said.

Hathel nodded, grim-faced. "I've spoken to the keepers of the match, and they have agreed to let us go first, you and I. The bout will determine which of us dances first with Andreth, and whether you will find yourself honor bound to ask Andreth why she did not speak the truth to you at first."

"Assuming she didn't," Elros muttered.

Hathel grinned and turned away.

"Why are you doing this?" Elros asked to his back.

The mortal turned back. "Mental warfare," he smirked. "I'm trying to frighten you into thinking that perhaps your victory is not as assured as you think."

"No," Elros shook his head. "Not that. Why this wager? What have you to win? Why not just take the opportunity to pursue her, woo her yourself, since I failed?"

Hathel drew in a breath deep into his chest and blew it out again. "I thought of that," he admitted, turning fully back now, and coming back a few steps toward Elros. "Indeed, last night when we met in the dark streets, my first thought was to torment you, goad you into even greater pain with her rejection."

"But you didn't try to torment me in my weakness, despite your claim that you believed it would be better for her to wed a mortal. Instead you proposed this."

"Yes, I did," Hathel agreed.

"Why?" Elros pressed again.

"Because my lord, I made a choice," Hathel said simply, unblinking. "Do you remember when we were traveling to the quarry, and we spoke of her? You told me you loved her enough to give her up to me with your blessings if she loved me back?"

"I remember," Elros said.

"Well, I have chosen to be the same way," Hathel said. "I know she does not love me. And for all your wisdom and years Lord Elros, you must be as blind as a mole not to see in her eyes the love she bears you."

"Sirs!"

The two men looked up to see one of the game keepers, a dark-haired elf beckoning to them from a nearby doorway.

"Come a moment," the game keeper urged. "We wish to remind you of the rules of the game."

Hathel released a breath with a huff, and tossed the blade he held back into the wagon where it struck the other blades with a clatter, rattling until it lay still. The young mortal turned and walked toward the game keeper, not looking back.

Elros looked at the blade in his own hand, before he too lay the blade back in the wagon, careful to lay it, and the blade Hathel tossed, in the even row with the others. Then he too, turned and followed after Hathel.

The two men entered the room, and the game keeper shut the door behind them.

Not many moments later, a figure, hunched and scurrying, clad in a cloak despite the warmth of the late morning, scurried from behind a nearby building and glanced furtively here and there, looking desperately about before it scrambled toward the wagon Elros and Hathel had just left. One hand, mostly shrouded by the cloak it wore, clutched a small corked vial. And in the other hand, a dirty cloth.

The figure stumbled in its haste against the side of the wagon, causing the swords to rattle where they lay. Flashing eyes again glanced one way and then the other before the vial was lifted to a mouth that opened revealing yellowed, uneven teeth that bit and tore out the cork before the contents of the tipped vial spilt from the mouth in a viscous stream onto the cloth. The vial emptied, the hand tossed it away, picked up a sword, and began to brush the dampened cloth over the blade.

"No cursed elf's gonna kill Lhûg and escape what's comin' to 'im," a voice muttered softly as the unseen figure lay the blade down, careful not to let it rattle, picked up another blade, and continued his sinister task.

...oOo...

"Very well, you are all assembled," said the game keeper, clad in a tunic and breeches of green and brown as he strode before Elros and the seven other contestants where they sat upon a bench that lined the wall of the small, sweltering room. Two other game keepers stood in the room also, a silver haired elf, and another with dark hair, though they did not speak. "I trust you know the rules of the game?"

"No cuts above the collar-bone, beyond the shoulder, or below the navel," one of the other elves offered, a golden-haired elf whom Thranduil knew, but whose name Elros did not.

"Indeed not below the navel," snorted a mortal man with dark hair tied back behind his head. The only other mortal aside from Hathel in the contest. "We wouldn't want to accidentally- disappoint our ladies, would we?"

Beside him Hathel choked softly, stifling a laugh, though it was the only sound. Elros and the other elven men only glared in silence at the mortal who squirmed beneath their stares, and cleared his throat.

The game keeper uttered a sigh that echoed in the quiet room. "You will fight bare-chested so that there is no confusion where the boundaries of legal strikes will be, and for us to see without difficulty when a strike is made.

"You may keep your tunics on until it is time for your individual bouts, at which time you will be required to shed them. Are you all in understanding?"

About the room, heads bobbed.

"Good." The game keeper nodded. "I trust you are all men of honor, who will behave according to the dictates of common sense and fair play." He looked at the men in turn, Elros nodding solemnly as the man's eyes met his own. Beside him, Hathel also gave the man a somber nod.

"That is enough," the game keeper said. "Good fortune to all of you."

Beyond the door, the merry sounds of the festival were louder, as if drawn closer to the arena. Elros drew in a deep breath and with the other men, rose to his feet.

...oOo...

Bright and merry music filled the air, bringing a smile to Andreth's face as she, with her arm looped through Aelin's, followed her friend's lead through the streets of Mithlond. Some distance away, the rising grey lighthouse on the arm of rock that extended into the bay, usually swarming with men, and echoing with the creak of ropes and the scrape of stone, stood alone and untouched, at least for now, as the Harvest Festival swirled with life and color below it. It seemed that all work in the city had been put aside, except for the street merchants, but they seemed as merry as everyone else.

Aelin's face, happy again, filled Andreth with pleasure, and as Aelin turned back to her with a smile, Andreth returned it, and squeezed her hand.

While she was glad Aelin was willing to show her the sights of the Festival she found herself wondering, as she darted behind Aelin from one bit of wonder to another, how Elros' expression would have looked at this marvelous oddity, or that. What he would have said to her, or how he would have reacted to her own delighted suprise. But she had not seen him yet this morning, and she knew after all, that it was perhaps for the best.

Last night, when she had awoken on the cushioned divan in Elros' bed chamber to see him kneeling so near to her, when she had realized that she was awake, it had taken all her will not to confess her love for him. The ache to do so had become especially great when he had so tenderly reaffirmed his own affection for her. It would be best for Elros not to know how her blood stirred when she was near him. How her soul ached just to be close to him.

"..._Perhaps what we want is not the will of the Valar_..." Elrond had said. Perhaps he was right. But what did Andreth want? She wanted Elros to live, young, strong, fair, wise, for all the ages of the world, doing good for both elves and men as his brother would, and all his kindred, until the world was remade. She wanted him to see the Blessed Realm.

But she also wanted... _him_. She wanted to be his wife, to give herself to him, body and soul, to sleep in his arms beneath a canopy of stars. To- to feel his skin against her own. She blushed to think of it. But it was true. She wanted to be near him always.

But she could not have all that she wanted, for if he knew she loved him, he would, she did not doubt, choose a mortal life that he might be with her. But if he thought his affection was not returned, then, perhaps, he would choose immortality, with an aching heart, but one that would heal one day, and find an elf maiden to love, and with whom he could live through all the ages.

"Come, you'll like these," Aelin urged, bringing Andreth out of her morose reverie, and pulling her toward a shopkeeper who brightened at their approach, a young looking elven lad with dark hair, and a flour dusted apron. His wares, sweet rolls, were displayed on a table at his side, and Aelin hastily deposited two coins in his hand before she plucked up two of the fattest sweetrolls, and handed one to Andreth.

The sweet roll glimmered under a sheen of honey, covering the fingers of both women in stickiness, but Aelin only giggled, like a girl, and bit into her own sweetroll.

Andreth followed her example, biting into the moist warmth of the sweet bread.

"Oh, it's delicious!" Andreth exclaimed as she chewed, glad for Aelin's cheer that curbed her own sad thoughts, relishing the sweetness that filled her mouth, and the elven woman only smiled through her own mouthful of sweet bread, snatched her hand, and pulled her quickly along again.

"The best is yet to come," Aelin offered over her shoulder with a grin.

_How could anything be better than what Aelin had already shown her? _Andreth wondered as she continued to finish off her sweet roll, likcing her fingers as Aelin pulled her along. She thought back on all that Aelin had shown her earlier. The elven woman had guided Andreth through the wonders of the Harvest Festival since mid morning, taking her through the streets that had been transformed into a merry maze of colorful banners, and shops teeming with tempting wares.

Andreth had been amazed and delighted at all she had seen so far, but her favorite memory until now, was a jolly elven woman who had been sequestered in a small space between two shops. Ignoring that most of the lady's audience were children, Aelin and Andreth had squeezed down in the midst of a number of small elflings, and a few young mortals, to listen to the lady's animated voice, telling the story of a kidnapped princess, a fierce dragon, and a brave and mighty knight who had come to the maiden's rescue. From folds in her gown, the woman had drawn brightly colored puppets at each character's entrance onto the stage of her skirts, and had changed her voice as each character spoke. Andreth had been enthralled. At the ending of the story, when the dragon had been slain, and the maiden rescued, when the cloth lips of the brave knight touched the scarlet yarn lips of the maiden, the children had howled in merriment and approval, and had scrambled forward to be the first to drop their small coins in the lady's hands. Aelin and Andreth had done the same, rewarded with a smile and thanks as they had given her their coins.

"What could be better than all that?" she laughed as Aelin pulled her along the street. Her friend was drawing her in the direction of an open arena of sandy earth near to the banks of the river where Andreth had seen men training horses before. Now, as she looked about herself, she realized that most of the elves about her were also moving in the same direction, as if in anticipation of some grand event.

"You will see," Aelin promised. "You will like this."

The crowd about them chatted and laughed merrily, clearly looking forward to what was coming, and Andreth found herself growing giddy as well, though she was not certain what she was anticipating.

Indeed, as the arena opened up to them, bright banners fluttering in the wind all about the tiered benches where elves and mortals were finding places to sit, Andreth saw, at the far end, a pavillion over a daïs, and upon this, she saw Círdan, clad in robes of silver and blue, seated like a lord, upon a throne.

Below him, mounted upon a cloud white horse sat a figure clad all in armor, a helmet concealing his head. Any hair that escaped his helmet was likewise concealed by a thickly woven cloak of deep blue. In one gauntleted hand, he held the reigns of his mount, and in the other, he held an upright lance, at the end of which, was fixed a small garland of flowers.

As the armored man's face was turned toward Círdan, Andreth could not see his features. But she could see Círdan's, and as her eyes found his, so did Círdan also lift his gaze from the mounted figure he was speaking to, and found her eyes, despite all the crowd about her, and a gentle smile touched the lips of the bearded elf. He lifted a hand from the arm of his chair in greeting. Andreth smiled, and waved back as Aelin tugged her along the railing. With him upon the dais, Andreth saw the King Gil Galad, and beside the king, Oropher, Thranduil's father. To Círdan's left, sat an empty throne, and another beside it, beyond which sat lord Celeborn and the lady Galadriel, seated side by side. Two more guests of high renown were yet to arrive, she decided, but then turned her attention back upon the armored figure.

Who was he? Andreth wondered. Círdan seemed to know him, for the ancient shipwright smiled as he spoke to the man, leaning forward casually, and laughing as only an old friend would.

"Who is that?" she asked, tugging upon Aelin's arm, and her friend turned.

Andreth pointed to the mounted figure to whom Círdan was speaking.

"I don't know," Aelin said. "He is different every year. One of the mightiest warriors of Mithlond, is chosen. As the War of Wrath ended less than a year ago, he is doubtless a hero of the war who won great renown, and now has the honor of bestowing the garland."

"Lord Círdan knows him well," Andreth said.

"He is not either of the lords Elrond or Thranduil," Aelin said. "For I see them over there."

Aelin pointed across the arena, and Andreth noted now, Elrond and Thranduil, standing near the wall the bordered the arena, leaning upon their arms that rested upon the wall, and talking to each other.

Elros, then? Andreth wondered, and her heart jumped, but just as quickly it settled back, for the warrior was taller than Elros, and she understood somehow, that if he were Elros her heart would-_ feel _it. Somehow

Whoever the mounted figure was, he was indeed a mighty warrior, and more than mortal. She could sense that easily enough.

"I do not see Elros," she said, squeezing Aelin's hand. "And he is not the rider."

"Then perhaps he is among the contestants," Aelin said.

"The contestants?" Andreth asked. "What is going to be contested?"

"That is unimportant now," Aelin chirped in anxious delight. "The garland is about to be given!"

The warrior's words with Círdan seemed to end, and the armored man turned his mount away from the dais where the shipwright and his companions sat, clapping a visor down over his face in the same motion, so even now, Andreth could not see the man's features.

"Andreth, go to the railing," Aelin urged, even as she sat down upon a stone seat behind her. "Hurry!"

"Why? What for?" she asked, hesitating even as other young women, all of them fair and lissom elven maidens, clad in cheerful colors of every hue, clambered to the wall that bordered the arena, their eyes following the mounted figure as he, with his garlanded lance held aloft, galloped wide about the circle of sand. She looked down at herself, at the leaf green dress Aelin had bidden her wear, telling her that it matched her eyes as she twined a green ribbon into a few strands of Andreth's long hair. With the scooped neck and flowing sleeves, it was a pretty gown, but surely the elven maids about her were far more lovely than she.

"Go, you will see!" Aelin teased, and waved her again toward the low wall.

The stone wall bordering the arena was flocked with young elven maidens, except in one place, a spot barely wide enough for Andreth to take, and she squeezed into it, her hands pressing into the stone, and a nervous pattering in her heart, though she did not know why.

Beside her, the maidens giggled and sighed, following the mounted figure with shining eyes. He was galloping now along the other side of the arena, that wall also flocked with young women. Elrond and Thranduil, pressed out of the way by the eager maidens, still stood, though further back. As he passed the two young elven men, the figure upon his mount hesitated briefly, and lifted a gauntleted hand in salute to Elrond, who returned the silent greeting in kind. Did Elrond know him?

The figure then cantered on, circling around, and coming now near to where Andreth stood. She lifted her eyes, wishing she could see through the man's visor, and meet his eyes. _Who was he? _His gaze moved over the line of young elven women, until they reached her, and paused a long moment, his horse slowing briefly. Andreth felt herself suddenly shiver, not unpleasantly, as she felt the man's eyes linger upon her. And though she could not see it, she sensed him smile behind his visor before he urged his horse on down to the end of the line before he swung his mount's head, and cantered to a stop in the center of the circle of sand.

"Greetings to you all!" he cried in a voice strong and deep, and clear as a herald's trumpet. His voice was friendly, but not one she knew. Across from her, Elrond's eyes brightened in recognition at the voice, and he tipped his head, whispering hastily to Thranduil.

The warrior, yet unknown to her, scanned the faces of the maidens among whom Andreth stood. "And especially to you, my fair sisters!"

Cheers of returned greetings echoed through the seated assembly, and about her, the maiden's laughed and returned greetings of their own, many of them waving, and bouncing upon their toes in delighted anticipation.

"This is truly a difficult choice!" he cried, "for you are all very fair, and I wish I had garlands enough for all of you!"

Laughter and cheers answered this. Andreth's brow furrowed, and she turned, glancing over her shoulder, asking Aelin silent questions.

Aelin grinned in delight, shifting her weight where she sat, and gestured merrily for Andreth to turn back around.

Obediently she did so. The mounted warrior had urged his horse forward again, and mount and warrior circled the arena again, slowly now. The laughter and cheers had grown silent, and a stillness of breathless waiting hung over the assembly. The warrior again trotted along the wall as maidens pressed up against the wall turned uplifted eyes to him, hopeful and pleading.

Then he circled around, coming near again to where she stood. The maidens about her buzzed and tittered, but Andreth stayed still, her heart hammering in her ears. The white horse slowed and stopped at last, before her, the warrior's shaded eyes still hidden from her view. He paused. A breath seemed to rise and fall in his chest. Then at last, the lance lowered, until its tip, and the flowered garland looped upon it, touched the top of the stone wall between her very hands with a soft tap.

To her left and right, disappointed sighs flowed over the line of elven maidens. "Take it," the one to her left urged. "He's chosen to give it to you."

"It means he thinks you're the prettiest one here," the girl to her right sighed.

Andreth still studied the garland before her, not daring to lift her eyes to her benefactor as she, hesitant, lifted her hands, and grasped the garland of flowers, just right to fit upon her head.

As she lifted it in her hands, the lance withdrew, and rose into the air again. About her, the other maidens turned away from the wall, returning with a whisper of skirts, to their seats

"Put it on," she heard Aelin whisper behind her, and Andreth did, settling the garland upon her head.

A clatter of armor brought her eyes up, and she watched her faceless champion dismount. A few young elves darted forward from beneath Círdan's dais, and to these youth the armored figure handed his lance. Then he turned, and strode toward her.

He was taller than Elros, and seemed to carry with him an aura of unfathomable wisdom as he walked toward her.

"Your name, please, young one," he asked, stopping near to her upon the other side of the wall. He held out a gauntleted hand to her.

"Andreth," she returned, slipping her hand into his. The metal was cool and smooth against her fingers. "Daughter of Beldir."

"Beldir of the house of Bëor," the helmeted head bowed at this over her hand. "I thought as much. I can see your father in your eyes."

"You knew him?"

"I did," the man returned. "He died bravely."

Andreth swallowed and dropped her eyes.

"His last thoughts were of you."

To this, Andreth's eyes lifted quickly again. "How would you know that?" she whispered.

But the armored warrior stepped back. "Come, young one," he urged, and before she realized what was happening, he had reached over the wall, and deftly swept her up into his arms. In a moment, she was on his horse, and he was mounting behind her.

"You are the fairest one here," the warrior explained as he settled in the saddle behind her, "and thus, you are to be seated high upon the dais so that everyone can appreciate your loveliness." She could hear a smile in his voice. "But first, a gallop around the arena. Make sure you wave to everyone."

Andreth giggled faintly as the horse started trotting. Obedient to the orders of her new, yet still faceless friend, she waved as he guided his horse along the wall. She caught sight briefly of Elrond, whose grinning face flashed past, and was gone.

"My lord," she murmured as they went, "you are saying that I, a mortal, am more fair than all the elven maidens beside me?"

"I am," he said.

"You did not chose me, simply because I am the ward of Lord Círdan?"

"No," he said simply. "And _I_ do not lie. My lady, I know much, more than even the wisest elf, but in truth, I do not know all, for I am not my lord, Manwë Súlimo, nor Eru Ilúvatar who gave life to us all. And at the first, when I saw your face, I did not know you, nor even that you were not an elf. It was not until I dismounted and came to you, that I knew you to be one of the Second Born. Then I saw your father in your eyes, and knew truly who you are."

"Then why did you choose me?"

Aelin's beaming face flashed past as Andreth waved. The dais upon which Círdan and the others were seated, was drawing near.

"Because," the warrior patiently explained, "you are the most beautiful maiden here. In truth, there is only one maiden I know of, who outshines you, in my eyes. But she was not in this arena."

Briefly, the warrior lifted his eyes and looked skyward, directly into the bright sun, it seemed to Andreth, for a long moment before he lowered his face.

"Many here came close, truly," he continued, "but your eyes won the day for you. They are green, like new grass, and shine brighter than gems."

Andreth felt herself shudder slightly at this. For his words reminded her of Elros' words.

"You are in love, aren't you?"

These words were asked as the white horse cantered to a halt, and the warrior slid from its back. He held up his arms for Andreth, and she slid into them, lifted gently to the ground at the feet of the steps leading to the dais.

"Yes," she answered.

"And yet," he said, guiding her to the steps, "you seem sad."

The steps passed slowly beneath their feet as they rose.

The metal of her guide's gauntlet was cool beneath her fingers. She had yet to see his face, yet something compelled her to trust him with her next words.

"I would not have him die for me."

"Die for you?" he asked.

Her guide was silent for a heart beat.

"Ah," he breathed, his voice clear as a mountain stream. "You love Elros _Peredhel_."

Andreth did not speak. She could not speak. _How could this stranger deduce all of these things so swiftly_? Who was he? _What_ was he?

"You fear he will choose a mortal life for your sake."

She and the warrior stopped at the crest of the steps, and her eyes fixed upon Círdan whose grin was almost boyish. It cheered her, and she smiled back.

At his gentle guidance, Andreth turned about, facing the center of the arena. All eyes, to her right and left, were upon her. Opposite from her, Andreth saw a wide gate through which men guided their horses into the arena when they wished to train them. High slats blocked most of her view, but through them, she could see the forms of men standing just beyond, as if waiting. Her lips parted slightly at their forms. They were only partial shadows to her, but one of them-

"My friends," her guide called out in a clear voice, "I present to you, Andreth, daughter of Beldir of the noble house of Bëor the maiden who will present the winner his prize!"

Applause echoed across the arena, and the shadows of men just beyond the gate shifted nervously.

Her guide turned slightly, and from Círdan, who rose from his seat, he took and lifted up a finely tooled quiver, fat with arrows, and a finely carved bow. He held them aloft for the view of the gathering, then turning to Andreth, the armored warrior handed her the bow and quiver of arrows, and murmured gently, "Hold these during the contest. When the winner is decided, he will come forward, and you will present these to him."

Andreth swallowed, and accepted the weapons.

"For now, sit in the place of honor between my seat, and the seat wherein the daughter of Finarfin sits." He stepped back, and gestured to the second of the empty seats behind him.

Beside the empty chair, Galadriel caught Andreth's eye and smiled, gesturing for the maiden to come and sit beside her.

Smiling into the kind eyes of her wise friend, Andreth offered a final curtsey to the gathering, then with the bow and quiver in her hands, she turned, and gratefully retreated to the seat beside the beaming golden haired lady.

"You were marvelous!" Galadriel breathed, reaching over and clasping Andreth's hand as it came to rest upon the arm of her seat. "And indeed our lord was wise in his choice of you. You _are_ the most lovely maiden here!"

"But who is he?" Andreth wondered. "Elrond seemed to recognize his voice, but I did not. And I have yet to see his face."

Galadriel only smiled, and, glanced toward Círdan who had just risen, and moved to stand beside the mysterious armored warrior, a full head taller than the silver haired elf.

"My friends and kindred!" Círdan called out to the now murmuring crowd. "Doubtless you wish the contestants to enter, but also, I do not doubt you wish to know the identity of this mighty warrior!"

Murmurs of assent rippled over the gathering, and with a grin, Círdan nodded to the warrior beside him, who, bending his head, gripped the sides of his helmet, and drew it off.

Long golden hair spilled down upon his shoulders and back, liberated from the helmet. Andreth swallowed stiffly. It was more than simply golden, for this warrior's hair almost seemed to-_ glow_.

A soft gasp seemed to fill the lungs of all present, almost at the same moment. And a glance at Elrond, where he stood some distance away beside Thranduil, Andreth could see his grin of pleased surprise.

The warrior turned now, and smiled toward Andreth, the same smile she had sensed behind his visor. At first glance, he appeared elven, for his features, and the tipped peaks of his ears seemed to indicate this. But indeed, he was more than elven. For a- light seemed to-_ live _within him.

A quick breath filled her lungs, and her heart constricted as a sensation of humility mingled with excitement coursed through her limbs.

"Eönwë." The name reverently whispered through the crowd, repeated like an echo.

"Lord Eönwë," Andreth muttered, now grasping Galadriel's hand, and turning her eyes to meet those of her kind, wise friend. "The herald of Manwë himself. I heard of him. I never thought I-"

Galadriel smiled, though by her eyes, she was as astonished as everyone else. Of all the assemblage, only Círdan it seemed, was not surprised.

Andreth blinked several times, and pressed a hand to her cheek. What new surprises could this day bring?

"And now, my friends," Eönwë called, spreading his hand toward the gate opposite the arena from the dais. "The contestants may enter."

The gates opposite her creaked open, and as the contestants entered, eight men striding into the arena, six elven men, and two mortal men, all clad in unadorned tunics, breeches, and boots. Andreth's lips parted in silent, wondering surprise. _Elros _was one of them! Tall, magnificent, achingly beautiful, his dark hair unbound but for two braids drawing back the hair at his temples. And Hathel was one of the men as well, his yellow hair tied back behind his head with a string of leather, a few stray strands falling over his brow. As if they had rehersed this, the contestants strode across the sandy arena, and arrayed themselves before the dais in an evenly spaced line, their hands at their sides. Behind the, group, two youthful elves drew a clattering wagon laden with- were those_swords_?

"What- what are they going to do with those swords?" she hissed, reaching and snatching at Galadriel's hand.

"They will spar to first blood," Celeborn spoke up, leaning near his wife's arm. A grin lightened the elven lord's face as if he looked forward to the contest. "Two at a time, single elimination. Once a contestant has had a wound inflicted, he is eliminated, his opponent moves on and fights again, and so on, until one victor is left."

"First b-blood?" Andreth quailed. "But what if the first cut is a blade in the throat?"

"My lady," Eönwë's warm voice, like a gentle wind, sounded at her right hand, and she turned to the Maia.

"Do not fear for your dear one." His hand reached out and pressed hers. The gauntlet was gone, and his hand warmed her own as if with the sun's own light. "The swords are fashioned in such a way that they cannot but scratch, and not deeply. And the contestants are not allowed to make a cut above the collarbone."

Andreth sighed and nodded before she turned her eyes downward toward the eight men, finding Elros' face in a moment. But his eyes were not upon her; rather they were upon Eönwë. Elros' face had grown faintly pale as the eyes of the Maia met his own; yet the dark-haired elf squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, meeting the Maia's gaze boldly.

Andreth's heart tightened at the silent communication that passed between elf and Maia, as clearly as if the two shouted at each other. Eönwë had come to Mithlond to hear Elros' choice at last. And Elros, she could see in his eyes, was prepared to speak it.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

A hush fell over the arena as Eönwë rose to his feet, and strode to the edge of the daïs.

"My brothers," he called, speaking down to the men below him, though is voice echoed easily over the entire arena, "I wish good fortune to all of you, and trust that your conduct will reflect favorably upon your characters, and upon your Houses and kindred."

A soft murmur rolled over the assembly as Eönwë paused, and nodded to the game keeper who stood at the base of the steps to the daïs.

The elven man nodded back, and dropped his eyes to a sheet of parchment in his hand.

The Maia returned to his seat, and lowered himself beside Andreth.

Andreth sat upon her own gilded chair feeling nervous despite the Maia's reassurance, and she sat stiffly at the edge of the seat, her eyes ranging over the line of men below her, lingering upon Hathel, and then coming to rest upon Elros.

Elros eyes were still upon Eönwë, but as her eyes came to him and stopped, his own gaze shifted and met hers.

Seeing perhaps the worry in her face, he smiled, a tender, reassuring smile, and inclined his head faintly. _Do not worry, Tindómiel,_his lips murmured silently.

For his sake, Andreth strove to return his smile.

The game keeper spoke now, his voice ringing over the assembly, though not as powerful as Eönwë's voice had been. "Our first combatants will be Hathel son of Helendir, and Elros, son of Eärendil."

Andreth's heart leapt into her throat at this pronouncement.

"Select a blade, my young brothers and come to the center of the arena."

The group of men turned now, to face the center of the arena, and Elros and Hathel started forward toward the small wagon that held the blades the young elves had brought.

Uncertain what possessed her, Andreth jumped to her feet, and scampered down the daïs steps. "Hathel, Hathel!" she gasped.

Both the mortal man and Elros stopped at her frightened tone, and both turned back, though only Hathel stepped toward her, his eyes uplifted, watching her come to him.

His eyes, she noted, her heart growing heavy, were as soft as Elros' had been when she had met the elven man's gaze. Hathel too, had feelings for her, though his caring she could not return. Not as he wished.

"My lady?" he queried, coming to the bottom of the steps.

Behind him, a murmur of subdued laughter rippled through the onlookers.

Andreth blushed.

"Oh, Hathel," she murmured as he drew near, His eyes uplifted to hers. "Don't hurt Elros."

At this, Hathel's smile quivered faintly, a fleeting look of disappointment in his eyes before a gentle smile banished it. "That is what you wished to tell me?" he asked.

She reached out, and rested a hand upon his shoulder. Beneath the rough cloth, she could feel the thick sinew, warm and firm from so many tireless years of cutting and laying stone. More tittering rippled over the assembly, and Andreth quickly withdrew her hand, realizing the gesture had been misinterpreted.

She began, "I know you and he are not the best of friends-"

"I give you my word, my lady, I would never hurt anything precious to you," Hathel said, his eyes fixing upon her own with gentle intensity. "It is true we are not the best of friends, Lord Elros and I, but we have- come to an understanding. He loves you, and I know that you love him."

Andreth dropped her eyes. A moment later a finger, roughened with callouses, though its touch was gentle, came under her chin, and lifted her face again. Andreth barely heard the subdued merriment of the assembly as this.

"It is in your eyes, fair Andreth," Hathel said. He choked faintly. "I will not lie and say that it is pleasing to me. But I want you to be happy. And I know that Elros can make you so. Do not fear for his safety."

Hathel stepped back, "You should tell him how you feel, Andreth. Do not think you're sparing him anything by keeping the truth from him."

Andreth's mouth fell open, but she could not speak. Hathel caught one of her hands in his own, and lifted it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles, all the while keeping his eyes fixed upon her face.

At last, he turned away, and jogged toward Elros where the elf waited. Elros' eyes found and held Andreth's gaze as Hathel came, then as the mortal reached his side, both Elros and Hathel turned and walked now toward the cart of weapons side by side. An arm's length was still between them, but the pair seemed amiable enough.

Her heart still trembling, Andreth turned and began back up the steps.

"She's most likely the mortal's sweetheart," a man's voice muttered nearby from the seats that began near the daïs steps.

Andreth paused and tipped her head, seeing out of the corner of her eye a pair of mortals, a smoothly shaven man with fine robes, a trading merchant most likely, and a woman clad as finely as the man seated upon the stone benches the began not far from the daïs steps. Perhaps his wife.

"I don't know," the woman replied, uncertain. The pair gazed out into the arena, and did not seem aware that Andreth could hear them. "She acted toward him as if he was more her brother than a sweetheart. And did you not notice, but the maiden and the dark-haired elf were gazing at each other for some time."

The man snorted. "Ah, my dear, you know little of elves. Do you not know why in the few instances when mortals and elves have wed since the beginnings of our dealing with one another, that only elven women and mortal men have wed?"

The woman heaved a sigh and shook her head.

"It is because elven men are so unmanly, and-"

A low, but insistent hum of appreciative feminine voices rippled through the arena, and silenced the man. A rustle of cloth accompanied a line of women, both elven and mortal, who rose from their seats, and crowded up against the stone wall of the arena as they had before Eönwë had awarded the garland to Andreth.

Turning fully back now to see what had drawn the attention of so many women, Andreth had to catch a gasp in her own throat.

Elros and Hathel stood at the wagon where the swords lay. Elros was peeling his shirt off. The cloth was up over his shoulders and head, his flat, corded stomach already visible. Andreth's heart flipped within her at the sight. Her blood warmed of its own accord, and her knees threatened to buckle beneath her.

As his head and arms came free of the cloth, and he drew his arms free of the sleeves, draping it over the side of the cart, another sigh of admiration and appreciation rippled over the women lining the low fence that bordered the arena.

Andreth herself stood as one stunned. She had seen Elros thusly before, naked from the waist up, but as she watched him now in the center of the arena, rolling his firm shoulders, and stretching his muscled arms, the sinews taut and corded beneath his lightly tanned skinned, his dark hair and braids spilling to the fore and back of his peaked ears, over his shoulders and down his back, she could not help but stand still, entranced, unable to do anything else but watch the fluid grace of his movements.

Elros picked up a sword and twirled it experimentally, testing its weight in his sturdy fist, oblivious to the attention he was garnering from nearly every woman in the assembly at each simple motion he made.

The sinews shifted beneath his smooth, flawless flesh as he stepped back from the cart, the weapon in his hand. His arms were firmly muscled, his shoulders and upper chest taut and firm, tapering to his lean, corded belly where his breeches hung loosely just below his navel, against firm narrow hips.

With the sword in his hand, and his long hair catching in a faint breeze that washed through the arena, Elros glided slowly through the motions of several fighting steps, the sword seeming to be now but a natural extension of his arm. His back, as he turned from her, was as smooth and flawless as his chest; the valley of his spine curving down his back between his smoothly shifting shoulder blades.

Elros seemed like grace itself. Like a visible- _song_.

_Ai_, he was beautiful.

Andreth's blood quickened within her as she remembered that of all the women in the assembly, above all the fair elven maidens who gazed at him now with stars in their eyes, he loved only her. His heart, she recalled, elated and grieved at the thought, was hers alone.

"My lady!"

The voice from behind her was an urgent hiss, though not without a thread of humor, and Andreth started, realizing that Lord Eönwë had been trying to catch her attention for some time.

Coming back to herself, Andreth looked about her, blushing as she realized that almost every face not fixed upon the elven man in the arena, was looking at her. And grinning.

Abashed, she turned, and caught up her skirts to ascend the steps once again. Though she did cast one more glance at the mortal merchant and his wife, and smiled to herself as she noticed the man's flabbergasted face, and his wife's own expression of teasing triumph.

"That fair creature- _unmanly_?" the lady teased. "Oh, my dear. I think not."

...oOo...

"Every woman present is looking at you, my lord," Hathel muttered, peeling his own shirt over his head and draping the rough cloth over the edge of the wagon before picking up a sword himself.

His brows came together as he studied the blade, striving not to let his ego crumble when no feminine voices cooed in admiration at _his_ bare torso.

Elros' eyes remained fixed upon the ground as he spun the sword he held in his grip, the blade making a circular whir like a hummingbird's wings before his firm grip halted its spin. "Is the lady Andreth?"

"Are you daft? Of couse." Hathel answered, shooting a fleeing glance toward the fair maiden seated again beside the Maia, her eyes fixed upon them both with intensity and obvious worry. "In fact, she didn't return to her seat for several minutes for staring at you."

Elros' face colored faintly at this. "What did she say to you when she came down the steps?"

"That she loved you."

Elros' eyes jerked up.

"Not with those words," Hathel admitted and the elf's eyes lowered again. Hathel continued, "Her very words, my lord, were '_Don't hurt Elros_.' I told her not to worry, and that I knew she loved you."

Hathel looked steadily at Elros' downturned face. "She did not counter me."

To this, a hesitant grin began to come to Elros' lips.

"Sirs," one of the game keepers called where he stood in the center of the arena.

Elros drew in and released a breath. "Let's go," he said, and Hathel turned, following him to the center of the arena where the game keeper stood, taking the place in the sand across from Elros that the game keeper indicated.

"You both remember the rules," the game keeper said. "No cuts above the collarbone, beyond the shoulder, or below the navel. Any illegal cuts you make will disqualify the offender, and his opponent will be declared the winner of the match. Do you understand?"

Hathel nodded, as did Elros. He could feel his heart beginning to thunder in him, and his brow was growing damp. He swallowed hard, struggling to push down the doubts that were beginning to creep into his heart. Hathel had proposed this bet when he'd thought that Elros might wish to claim the chance to ask Andreth how she truly felt; and- before Elros was holding a blade in his hand.

Hathel was no warrior. Yet this elf had fought in the War of Wrath, and cut down more enemies than Hathel could imagine. Even if Elros only gave half his effort, Hathel would be hard pressed to have even the smallest chance of winning.

"Shake hands, my brothers."

Hathel responded to the order without thinking, traded his blade to his left hand, and stepped forward, as did Elros, the two men clasping hands between them.

"Good fortune to you, my lord," Hathel muttered, meeting Elros' piercing gaze.

"And to you," Elros hissed between his teeth.

Hathel gulped, and withdrew his hand, stepping back to his place, his heart hammering within his chest. He moved his sword back to his right hand, feeling his palm growing moist as it gripped the hilt. Clumsily, he traded the weapon to his left hand once more, and rubbed his right palm against his breeches, before he took the hilt again in his right hand. Then he noticed how his opponent held his own blade.

Elros too, was right-handed as he was, but the hand that held the hilt of his sword was his- his_ left_. He'd shifted it to clasp Hathel's hand, but had not traded it back.

Hathel waited a moment, expecting the elf to trade his blade back to his more skilful hand, and when he did not, Hathel lifted his eyes, questioning the elf silently.

Elros only offered him a furtive, half grin and a faint shrug.

The soft scuff of feet on sand told him that the game keeper had backed up several paces.

He swallowed stiffly again before something beyond Elros' shoulder caught his eye. Behind the colorful flock of maidens crowding the stone wall of the arena craining and jostling to catch a glimpse of Elros- Hathel saw a figure- now hidden, now visible behind the shifting flock of young women. Why did that figure stand out from all the other faces in the crowd? Perhaps it was the hard bitterness, a- greed in his eyes. Was that- Lang? But Lang had said he was leaving Mithlond forever after he'd gotten his pay, and Hathel hadn't given the embittered man another thought. What was he doing back?

"_Begin_!" the game keeper cried, his voice echoing through the arena, and Hathel's mind was jerked fiercely back to his task at hand.

...oOo...

Andreth did not realize how tightly she was gripping the arms of her chair until the ache in her hands crept up into her elbows. Even then, with the clashing of weapons below her, it took an effort to release the arms of her chair, and draw her hands back into her lap.

Her fingertips throbbed, but she did not look at them, her focus fixed upon the fight below her. They'd vowed not to kill each other, Hathel, at least, had promised he would not hurt Elros, but still- it looked so real. It was chilling to see two men whom she knew so well slashing so viciously at each other. That they seemed to be trading banter back and forth as they slashed and dodged each other's blades did not help her racing heart.

Something was wrong. She could sense it. Despite Eönwë's assurances, she could not rid herself of the feeling that something with evil intent wanted to hurt Elros.

"My lady-"

Even Eönwë's gentle voice beside her drew her eyes to the bright face of the Maia for a fleeting moment before her eyes jerked back to the men below her, their weapons clashing furiously as they pressed each other back and forth across the sandy arena below her.

Elros' chest gleamed with sweat now, as did Hathel's, for they had been clashing now for some minutes, yet neither one had struck a cut on the other.

"Can you not sense it, my lord?" she said, unable to look at the Maia.

"Sense what, my lady?"

"Someone- _something_ wants to hurt- Elros. At first I tried to dismiss it as only an unwarranted, silly fear, but now-"

"You feel such a threat, my lady?"

"Do you not feel it? You are a child of the Valar!"

"I am not the All Father," he returned patiently. "I know only what He feels needful to give me."

At last her eyes jerked to the Maia's as a feeling of alarm clawed its way into her throat. "You must make them stop! Please!"

Eönwë studied her eyes for a long moment, seeing something there that at last stirred him to unease as well. "Very well," he answered, and rose to his feet.

...oOo...

"How is your strength holding out?" Elros asked, grinning as he dodged a slash Hathel had aimed at him. It was for the best, he realized, for the blade would have struck his arm, which would have madeHathel the loser of the match. Which Elros realized now with certainty, he did not want. Losing a first dance with Andreth was a welcome trade for an excuse to speak to her one more time, to insist that she give him the truth of her feelings.

It had been awkward, the first few furious blows he and Hathel had exchanged, to fight with his left hand. But now, it had grown into a challenge he was realizing he enjoyed. The match, he acknowledged, would have been over far too quickly, and in his own favor, had he let his right hand hold the blade. As it was, he and the mortal were nearly evenly matched.

"As well as yours, my lord," Hathel gasped back, twisting deftly out-of-the-way of a slash Elros had aimed at his ribs. "I could last all day."

Hathel gasped as he spoke, though he did so with a grin.

The mortal lifted a hand, brushing it hastily across his brow. The mortal fairly gleamed with sweat, and Elros felt the dampness on his own body as well. This had gone on further than he had thought it would, for such mock battles usually lasted only a minute or so, often less, before at least one cut was delivered. Hathel was proving to be more skillful than he had expected.

"Is Andreth still watching us?"

"Good try my lord, but I'm not looking away." Hathel gasped out a laugh.

"After all, my lord, where else would she be looking, but at _you_?"

Elros grinned. Hathel was not so great a wretch as he had once thought. The man was indeed honorable, even in the face of his own defeat.

With this thought, Elros at last, let the mortal pary aside his blade, his torso unguarded for the fleeting moment that Hathel needed.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Eönwë thrust to his feet in the very instant that the tip of Hathel's blade slashed across the surface of his skin.

Elros flinched at the burning sting, stopped and stepped back, lowering his blade, and looked down at the wound as he gulped in draughts of air.

A clean, shallow slice across the flesh a few finger spans below one collarbone. A little blood flowed from the wound, but not enough to cause worry. Hathel had done well.

Applause filled the arena, and the voice of one of the game keepers cried out, announcing Hathel as the winner as the mortal stepped back as well, a defeated, though good-humored grin upon his face.

Elros began to return the grin as well, before the throb in the wound ignited into a spark of pain that made him stagger and flinch as he dropped his blade to the ground.

"My lord?" Hathel asked, his own grin falling. He stepped forward, a hand outstretched. "Are you hurt? Did I cut too deeply? I am sorry!"

"I am all right." Elros waved him away as he turned and staggered back toward the cart of weapons, and his discarded shirt.

"Let me help-" Hathel insisted, coming behind him. "Someone should look at that-"

"No," Elros insisted. "There are two things I must do, now. Neither can wait."

He snatched his shirt and clumsily pulled it over his head as he turned and started toward the steps to the dais.

Eönwë stood at the crest of the steps, Andreth beside him now, her face taut with concern. Perhaps, he thought, the burning in his chest was only the sharp pain that often accompanied new hurts and would fade in the next few moments. But Elros was dismayed as the burning in his new wound only increased as he started up the steps.

Elros clutched at the wound, set his jaw and continued to climb.

What was wrong? Such a shallow, harmless flesh wound should not burn so badly! He had gained worse wounds than this during the war, and only the most grievious hurt more than this harmless wound.

The patter of feet sounded in his ears, and he looked up, managing a grin through the rising pain as Andreth scampered down the stairs toward him, and grasped his free hand in her own. Her lovely face, though as ever flawless and smooth, _like a rose petal_, he thought to himself, was written with anxiety.

"Elros," she said, her small hands tightening about his own. "Are you hurt much? Badly?"

He shook his head, smiling through the pain. "Nothing more than a surface wound," he tried to assure her, but the fear did not ease from his face. He knew she could see the truth written across his face. And as his knees crumpled, forcing him to sit clumsily upon the rising steps, Andreth lowered herself with him, sitting before him, still holding his hand.

"I'm just tired from the fight," he tried to lie. But she shook her head.

"No," she pleaded. "Tell me the truth. Are you in much pain?" She reached for the ties of his shirt, as if she wished to loosen the ties, and examine the wound for herself.

"No," he returned, pulling back, and studying her eyes with tender ferocity. "_You_ tell me the truth."

Andreth flinched at these words. "What do you mean?" she asked, clearly hurt by the suddenly insistent tone of his words.

His heart smote him that he was causing her this distress, but he pressed on. "Look into my eyes," he demanded through the searing pain in his chest. "Look me in the eyes and tell me truly whether you love me or not."

...oOo...

Andreth drew in a hiss of pain at Elros' demand and looked away. She could not look into his eyes, and lie to him in the same moment! She _could not_! But Eönwë was behind her, and Elros was halfway to him. His choice. He would speak it today. _Now_. She could not afford to falter, or he would make a choice that would eventually lead to his death.

A finger that trembled faintly, reminding her of the pain upon Elros' face, touched under her chin. The finger was faintly sticky, and as she looked down, she saw a line of faint red seeping through his shirt. The wound was bleeding. Only a little. It could be no deeper than the cut across her palm not many days before. Then why did his eye glint with such pain?

"Look at me," he demanded again through set teeth. She could not tell if he was angry, or only clenching his teeth to battle the pain in his wound.

Reluctantly, she lifted her gaze and found his eyes. Soft and sea grey and so deep she could lose herself in them forever, but also tight with discomfort.

"Tell me truly," he insisted, his eyes boring into her own, "whether you love me or not."

_Oh my dearest love_, her thoughts wept as she studied the pleading and the pain in his eyes. _I want you to see so much in this world! To see ages come and go, to see your father and mother again, and the Blessed Realm! Oh Elros, do not ask me to tell you the truth!_

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Elrond striding near with Thranduil at his shoulder. Elrond's eyes were fierce with a worry she felt in her own heart. Elrond's gaze met hers.

"Andreth Tindómiel," Elros grated, his eyes pleading with her as if he were begging for his very life, his voice drawing her eyes back to his. "Tell me."

Setting her own teeth, unable to fight the tears that fell from her eyes as her heart broke, Andreth locked her eyes with him, and murmured, "You are very dear to me Elros, as a friend. But I do not love you."

At this, Elros drew his hand from her own, and fell back heavily. He studied her motionless face for a long moment, his face paling, and tensing in deepening agony, though whether it was from her words, or from the pain of his wound, she could not say.

"Then I will say no more to you on this line," he said, his voice grown shallow. "I am sorry Andreth, my friend, for distressing you with such a question when you have already answered it sufficiently."

With effort, he rose to his feet.

She rose beside him. "May I help-"

"No," he insisted. "There is something I must do now, that cannot wait." His face twisted with pain, and he clutched at his wound again. But new strength seemed to come to his legs now as he climbed the last of the stairs to the Maia who stood at the crest of the steps.

"Andreth!"

Andreth turned at Elrond's breathless voice as he reached her side.

"He's hurt, Elrond." Andreth caught Elrond's wrist. "Something's wrong with the wound. I do not think it is deep, but there is something else. But he won't let me look."

"What did he say to you as I was coming?"

Andreth shivered at his question, and at the fresh pain that welled in her heart. "He told me he had to know the truth, and demanded I tell him truly whether I loved him or not."

"And?"

Andreth swallowed. "Elrond, I told him I did not love him."

"Oh Andreth," Elrond breathed. His eyes filled with pity and with guilt. "You should have told him the truth! Let him choose his own path from there. _Ai_, I should never have filled you with such doubts! This is my fault."

"You have done no wrong, Elrond! He means to tell Lord Eönwë his choice, this instant! He cannot have my foolish feelings clouding his mind and thoughts!" Andreth gripped Elrond's warm hand, the one steady thing in this tumulutuous sea of pain and worry and sorrow. "He _must_ make the right choice!"

"Elros, son of Eärendil, you're hurt."

Her eyes whipped to the top of the steps at Eönwë's compassionate voice as Elros dropped, panting, to his knees before the tall Maia. The golden-haired Maia reached out and touched the elf's shoulder. "This can wait. Let your brother, let Andreth see to your wound."

"No," Elros insisted in a voice thick with pain. "This must be done before any more time passes."

"_You will see one day_," whispered Andreth as she gripped Elrond's arm, and both fixed their eyes upon Elros' kneeling figure. "_One day, all will be well. And you will never lose him_."

"_But your heart is broken, Andreth_," Elrond breathed, one hand finding her shoulder.

"_That doesn't matter_," Andreth choked, grateful for his strength. _Ai_, that he could have been her brother. "_So long as he is saved_."

Elrond did not speak, though his grip upon Andreth's hand tightened as they stood, watching, waiting. Behind them, all was silence.

"My lord Eönwë," Elros voice was broken, but still powerful and warm as it rolled over the arena.

"I choose a mortal life."


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

"_My lord Eönwë," Elros voice, broken, but still powerful and warm, rolled over the arena. _

"_I choose a mortal life."_

...oOo...

Andreth's heart stopped within her at the words, and despair and confusion assailed her. Elrond's hand upon her shoulder tightened, the only indication of any emotion he felt, for he did not speak.

Elros rose to his feet and turned, looking down the steps, his eyes, filled with pain and sorrow fixing upon Andreth, his gaze moving now to Elrond, then back again to Andreth.

_Wh- why_? Andreth breathed, her lips forming the words, though her voice was too weak to make a sound.

Elros only shook his head, his hand again pressed to the wound upon his chest, wincing as he started down the steps toward her and Elrond.

"Andreth, Elrond-" he began.

But Elros did not get any further, for he stiffened as if in sudden, excruciating pain, and he crumpled to the stone steps, clutching at the wound beneath his shirt.

A wail of agony tore from his lips.

"Elros!" Andreth cried, her voice echoed by Elrond as the two of them sprinted up to Elros, and tumbled to their knees on either side of him.

Hathel still stood in the arena, near the base of the steps, his sword in his hand, looking on with worry and concern in his eyes.

Círdan and the others atop the dais were upon their feet at Eönwë's side, and the arena behind them was a tangle of counfused and alarmed voices. Andreth gave no heed to any of this, all her senses fixed upon Elros. She pressed a hand to his heated, sweat drenched brow.

"Elros!" she pleaded, "look at me!"

Elros' face was twisted now in agony, and another cry of pain escaped his lips as he arched his back in wild pain.

"_Tindómiel_!" he cried, his voice cracking with agony. His hand groped out, as if he were blind, seeking for something, and Andreth caught it. Elros gripped her hand tightly, and she winced, but did not pull away.

The touch of her hand seemed to sooth, in a measure, his misery, and his convulsions lessened.

Furiously, Elrond tore the bindings of his brother's tunic, not bothering to unlace them, and drew the cloth back from his wound.

Andreth's heart stopped at the sight before her; the sickly purple trailings radiating away from the wound like wicked spider's legs curling up over his shoulder and down his chest.

She and Elrond looked in each other's eyes. "Like my hand!" she choked. "_Venom_ was on the blade, Elrond!"

Andreth hesitated only a fraction of a moment, remembering what Elrond had taught her of venom, and of treating snake bites. Drawing in a sharp breath, she dropped her eyes from Elrond's, bent over Elros' wound, and put her mouth against his flesh, sucking fiercely at the poisoned cut. She tasted the acridness of blood, and the bitterness of something else as they filled her mouth. She fought to ignore Elros' cry of pain as she did, knowing that without athelas, this was his only chance. Andreth raised her head and spat fiercely upon the stone step beside her. Blood, mingle with a black, viscous substance struck the stone before she returned again to the wound and repeated the action.

"_Seize that traitorous liar_!" Elrond's voice shouted above her, and Andreth paused a moment, straightening, brushing a drop of something wet from the corner of her mouth. Elrond's face, tightened with anger, looked down the steps, fury filling his eyes.

Hathel's eyes now went wide in confusion and fear. The blade dropped from his hand, and hit the sand at his feet.

"_He's poisoned my brother_!" Elrond shouted.

"He couldn't-" Andreth protested, rising as two of the game keepers leapt forward, and snatched Hathel, their faces taut with anger and forced his arms behind his back.

_"Tindómiel_!" Elros wailed again, his voice choked, a weeping, pain filled cry.

Andreth dropped again to Elros' side, clutching his hand again, her eyes searching the tortured face of her dear one. His teeth were clenched, his eyes shut, and sweat gleamed on his face, throat and chest.

"I am here, Elros," she said.

"_Don't go_!" he pleaded.

"I won't," she choked, her voice breaking. "I'll stay. With you. I won't go anywhere."

She returned to her task, sucking fiercely at his wound again, and spitting, how many times, she could not count. The mixture of blood and venom looked on the steps like a puddle of vomit now. But the sickly purple trails, like skeletal fingers clawing over his shoulder and down his torso, did not appear to be decreasing.

"We must get him out of here," Elrond choked. "Somewhere where he can lay upon a bed, and I can treat him-" Elrond threw up his hands in a despair gesture. "If only my medicines were here!- if only-"

He cursed softly. "I would give my right arm for _one leaf _of athelas!"

He moved to picked up his brother, but Eönwë was there, kneeling at his side. "Let me," he said, and scooped Elros' writhing form up into his arms.

"No," Elros pleaded as his hand fell from Andreth's.

"She's still here," Eönwë promised him as he hefted the wounded elf's weight easily in his arms. "She's here, beside me."

Turning his eyes upon Andreth, the Maia ordered, "Follow me," and dropped down the steps to the sand of the arena.

"I need your help," Eönwë barked at one of the game keepers, and the elven man he addressed snapped to attention. "Show me where I can lay him, where healers can treat him."

"This way, my lord," the elven man said, and turned, darting away toward the nearest entrance.

Elrond siezed Andreth's hand and pulled her after him. She scampered down the stairs at his side, her gaze when she reached the sand, flitting to Hathel who had sunk to his knees, his face written with distress and fear. His arms were behind his back, bound, she did not doubt, for two elven men stood over him, spears now in their hands. As she passed him, he lifted his eyes and met hers, pleading silently, begging her to believe his innocence. His was not the face of one whose heart was truly guilty. And he had promised her he would not hurt Elros. There had been truth in his eyes, then.

Elrond's grip on her hand was insistent, as was her more pressing fear for Elros, and she turned her head forward.

"Aelin!" Elrond called, and in a moment, Andreth's friend was there, her skirts in her fists as she ran at Elrond's side, wetness upon her cheeks, her eyes pleading for direction.

"My lord?" she demanded. "What can I do?"

"I need your help to save Elros."

"Anything my lord," Aelin vowed. "I will do it."

Just outside the walls of the arena, their elven guide nodded Eönwë through the nearest doorway of one of the small buildings at the entrance. The Maia ducked through the doorway. Elrond pulled Andreth after him, Aelin trailing them.

The room was empty save for a shuttered window, a cot in one corner, and a table against the opposite corner laden with various bottles, and trays of dried herbs. Eönwë lay Elros' writhing, moaning form upon the narrow cot.

"_Tindómiel!" _he cried again, "where are you?" And Andreth was at his side upon her knees beside the small cot.

"Here I am, Elros," she soothed, grasping his groping hand.

"Aelin," Elrond said, as he strode toward the table, and began to search frantically amongst the herbs and bottles, "you must go find some athelas."

"Athelas?" Aelin gasped, her frightened eyes fixed upon Elrond's back. "Where? I do not even know where to look."

Elrond shot a look at Andreth.

"Yes, you do," he said, selecting one bottle from amongst the others, and scrambling to his brother's side.

Uncorking the bottle, he poured the contents directly onto the wound. The liquid hit the raw flesh and bubbled, and Elros arched his back and wailed, his hand fairly crushing Andreth's.

"This will help slow the venom," Elrond said, and Andreth nodded. "But with all that has gone into his veins, only athelas has the power to draw it all out. There is nothing more we can do until we have that herb."

"My lord, do you want me to go seek out- _Maglor_?" Aelin demanded.

Elrond lifted his head. "He has the only athelas that I know of," he grated.

"I do not know where he is," Aelin answered. "I know where he was, but he is gone now."

"Go to Círdan's house," Elrond gasped. "Within the door, Maglor's harp is waiting upon a side table. Take it, and ride to where we saw Maglor last. Play the harp. I do not doubt but that he will hear the music, and come. Tell him then what has befallen, and I do not doubt but that Maglor will be willing to help, and do all he must to save Elros."

"My lord, you cannot send me!" Aelin protested. She shot a glance to Eönwë who stood beside the door. "Send- him-"

"Aelin!" Elrond cried, his voice a mixture of fury and pleading as he lunged to his feet. "My brother is _dying_! Without the blood of elves in his veins, he would already be dead! Even now, his fate is uncertain! You are the only other who knows where to find Maglor aside from Andreth and me, and we cannot be spared! _For the love of all that is good, put aside your hatred, and help save my brother_!"

Aelin's eyes were wide and gleaming, and she staggered back a little, stunned. She sucked in a choking breath as she studied Elrond's pleading eyes. Her eyes flashed to Elros' agonized face gleaming with sweat, and her lips trembled with sympathy.

"I will need a horse," she said at last in a small voice.

"You may use mine," the Maia said, and taking Aelin by the elbow, guided her out the door.

Elros' chest heaved still, his body soaked in sweat, though his cries had faded, and he lay still, each breath a gasp of pain. His hand still clutched Andreth's.

"Forgive me," he choked, his glazed eyes upon the ceiling. "I have crushed your hand."

"No," Andreth said, touching a hand to his sweating face. "It's been held tighter before."

His eyes lowered and met hers through the haze of his pain. Despite his agony, his eyes looked inquisitive. "When?"

"Not long ago, I helped as midwife, when a young woman was birthing her child."

"Oh." A tremulous smile touch his lips. "A woman's grip can be tighter than a man's?"

"When she is bringing a child into the world, yes," Andreth returned, struggling to keep the tears from her voice.

"Indeed." Elros smiled weakly. "You are amazing, Andreth," he breathed.

She smiled and blushed, dropping her eyes.

"You are truly beautiful, you know," he murmured. His hand released hers and lifted, touching her cheek gently. His fingers trembled with the effort.

Andreth's lips quivered at this, and she caught his hand, holding it against her face as she too reached a hand out, smoothing away the sweat that lay against his brow, and his cheek. "So are you," she murmured.

_What if Aelin wasn't successful? What if she didn't return in time? Would these be her last moments with him?_ Andreth struggled with all her might to thrust these frightening questions aside and focus upon her wounded beloved.

Across from her, Elrond rose to his feet and moved to the table, pretending to arrange the herbs and bottles upon it.

Elros' smile trembled. "I wish you meant those words."

"I do," she whispered, and dropped her eyes. "You are wonderfully, gloriously beautiful, Elros."

Elros shook his head. "But you don't love me."

Andreth's heart grew still within her, and a cool wave of gentle urging washed over her, as if an ocean wave washed soothingly over her.

She lifted her eyes, and met his. "Yes, I do," she murmured.

Elros blinked, and shook his head. "I am-" he swallowed. "I am hearing things. You told me, twice, that you didn't-"

"I lied, Elros," she choked, shifting her weight so that she could lean nearer to him.

He blinked again, his expression betraying his uncertainty to the reality of her words. "But you wouldn't- don't you know the agony your denials caused me? How bitterly your words hurt? If you did love me, why would you- Why, Andreth?"

Andreth's chin trembled, and tears spilled now from her eyes.

"I wanted to save you," she choked weakly. "I had thought if you believed that I didn't love you, you would have no reason to choose mortality, and would elect the life of the First Born, as Elrond did. I wanted you to live always, to see your parents again someday, and never be parted from Elrond."

As she had spoken, Elros' hand trembled against her cheek, and his eyes searched hers with ever increasing intensity.

Softly, she finished, "I wanted you to see the Blessed Realm, Elros."

"Oh, Andreth," he said, his words a quivering moan. "My beautiful Tindómiel. The Valar do not will me ever to see Valinor with living eyes. My path is mortality. It must be, for the sake of generations unborn. And to me, it is indeed no great loss. For all the towers and grand halls of Tirion, no matter how they gleam, cannot match the brightness of your eyes." His thumb caressed her lips. "_You_ are my blessed realm, Andreth Tindómiel. My heart is in your hands. I love you, with all that I am. I want no other. I never will."

"Elros," she choked, leaning ever nearer, her hand gently brushing the sweat from his brow. "My dearest one. My heart too, is yours. Forever. I love you. So very deeply. Forgive me for my foolish lies."

The gladness in his eyes gleamed through the pain like the beam of a lighthouse through a haze of dark mist. "You love me?" he breathed.

"With all that I am," Andreth murmured.

To cement her words, she bent over him, her heart thumping furiously within her. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, trailing over his chest and throat, as she hovered over his face and gently, tentatively touched her lips to his. She tasted them shyly, hesitantly, before drawing back.

Their eyes met. She glanced away abashed, feeling suddenly very forward that she should be the one to kiss Elros, and in his brother's presence, though Elrond's back was discreetly turned. But as her eyes returned to his, she realized that Elros was not troubled by such things.

And wounded as he was, his arm still held sufficient strength to slip into her hair, his fingers sliding to the back of her scalp, drawing her face down to his.

A soft gasp escaped her before his lips touched hers, his mouth caressing hers with a mingling of tenderness and urgency that stirred Andreth's blood as sleeping coals are stirred before the flame flares to life.

But all too soon, his hand fell from hers, and he lay back, his strength clearly depleated.

He smiled once. "_Tindómiel_," he murmured, before he closed his eyes. His hand fell, limp across his chest.

"Elrond!" Andreth cried, suddenly alarmed, and Elrond turned back, scrambling again to his brother's side.

Lifting his eyelids, and checking his pulse, Elrond fell back with a ragged, uncertain sigh.

"When will he awake?" she pleaded.

"The athelas must do its work, and draw out the poison."

"Aelin will return in time," Andreth said, struggling to sound confident, though her voice choked as she spoke. "She will find Maglor soon, and she will bring the athelas."

"She must," Elrond said, meeting her eyes across Elros' limp form. He reached out and took her hand, gripping it tightly. "For his sake, and for yours, my dearest sister, she must."


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Aelin reined her white mount to a stop beneath the still forest trees, both horse and rider gulping in great draughts of air as she stood in the stirrups, straining to see through the gloamy shadows of the forest. Beneath her, the horse snorted, and pawed the earth as if sensing the desperation of her mission, and the absolute need for haste.

This was where Andreth had met Maglor just a few days ago, and Aelin, she winced at the memory, had nearly killed the young mortal when the envenomed knife she'd meant for the son of Fëanor had accidentally cut Andreth's palm. If Maglor had not had the athelas, Andreth likely would have died, or at the least, lost her hand.

Aelin swallowed hard, wondering what life would have been like for herself, to have such bitter guilt on her head for such a deed. Maglor knew the weight of blood on his head very well. Of course, he had saved Aelin the weight of such guilt just as much as he had saved Andreth's life, with his foresight to gather and keep the athelas leaves. Which now must save Elros as well.

Urging her horse forward, she rounded the trunk of the fat tree.

Sure enough, the mossy curtain hung over the hidden entrance. She could see no light, nor sense any movement within.

"_Maglor Fëanorion_!" she shouted, raising in the stirrups again. "_I must speak to you! It is most urgent_!"

Her voice echoed away through the trees. If the son of Fëanor was anywhere nearby, he would hear her. If not her voice, at least this.

Unstringing the pack she carried over her shoulder, and opening it, she withdrew the harp, plucking a few fleeting melodies that fluttered away into the forest like merry butterflies.

Surely such a melodious sound would bring the minstrel nearer.

_Was that a whisper of a step behind her?_

"_Fëanorion, where are you_?!" she cried again, turning the horse's head about.

Nothing.

"I have not come to do harm to you!" she cried, though she could see nothing but the trunks of trees marching away like pillars into the gloom. "I have come in behalf of another, Lord Elros, and his need is urgent. He is badly hurt. He-"

"What is wrong with him?"

Aelin whipped her head about, and in spite of her urgent fear for the young elf, her jaw tensed as Maglor, his eyes dark with distrust, stepped from behind a nearby tree. Crosswise, from his shoulder to his hip, he carried a fat pouch. Filled, she hoped, with the dried leaves of the plant Elros needed so desperately.

"Elros is dying," Aelin grated, feeling a swell of anger rising in her despite her will to suppress it for Elros' sake. "He was sparring during a contest, and his opponent wounded him. The blade was envenomed."

"Like Andreth's wound?"

Aelin pursed her lips at the memory, and the guarded look in Maglor's eye. "Yes. But worse. The blade did not cut an extremity. It hit his chest. Elrond and Andreth have done what they could to remove the venom, but the remaining poison is working through him now like an orc blade."

Maglor's expression betrayed a rising fear for Elros, yet at the same time uncertainty, and distrust gleamed in his eyes. "After what you tried to do, Mistress Aelin, why should I trust you? Why should I not believe that you have returned to finish what you could not do before? And why do you have my harp, restrung? Are you using it as bait?"

Aelin drew in a fierce breath. "I can prove nothing to you," she snapped. "Nor do I ask you to trust me when you have no reason to do so. But Elros is dying, and I have no time. Here is your harp." Leaning down, she placed the stringed instrument upon the ground, then urged the horse to back away.

"It is repaired; Elrond had it restrung. I do not ask you to come with me, or put yourself at my mercy where I could hurt you if I wished. I only ask for enough athelas to save Elros."

Maglor licked his lips. "Here. Use what you need," he said, and unstrung the pouch from over his shoulder and head. He tossed the fat pouch, and she caught it deftly, looped it over her head and shoulder as he had done, then spun her mount away, urging the horse into a gallop toward the light she could see at the edge of the trees.

"Mistress Aelin!" he shouted after her, and she reined in her horse, and turned back, seeing Maglor now running up behind her, his eyes fraught with concern.

"You really mean to leave now? You have no more schemes to try and gain my trust?"

"I don't need your trust, Fëanorion," Aelin snapped, looking down into the eyes of Fëanor's son. "I only need speed."

"You are telling the truth?" he said, his eyes growing wide with anxiety. "Eärendil's youngest son is _dying_?"

"Yes," she said, to which the dark haired son of Fëanor grasped the saddle, and leaped up behind her.

"Then I'm coming also."

Aelin shrank from the nearness of her enemy, but said nothing as she urged the horse forward. The horse responded eagerly, and leapt forward like an arrow through the trees toward the light, and toward Mithlond where Elros waited, still within hope, she silently prayed.

...oOo...

The high ceilinged room was musty and dark save for a shuttered window too high for him to reach, even if he were free to make the attempt.

Hathel shifted his weight on the chair where he sat, bound, waiting.

What was wrong with Elros? _Poisoned_? How? Oh, dear Valar, had he died? Hathel had not poisoned the blade, no matter what the others thought, but knowing that he had held the sword that had delivered the venom into the elf's blood was a sickening, crippling thought.

Hathel bent his head, his body feeling suddenly heavy.

What was happening?

He strained to hear voices beyond the thick door where his elven captors had exited after bringing him here. But he could not hear anything. Nor did any sound come through the high window. It was as if the entire cosmos had shrunken to this small room, and he was the only inhabitant.

His head jerked up as the bolt beyond the door was drawn back, the door flung open, and light entered the room, along with three figures he could not make out at first from the light streaming behind them. He could see clearly enough, that two of them held spears.

"Please!" Hathel gasped, straining to meet the eyes of the figure in the center. "Elros is still alive? How is he? How is Andreth? She is with him still?"

"He was alive when I left him in Andreth's care. And that is a good thing for you, _friend_," this word was spat with anger, "because if he dies-"

The bitterness in the voice of one who just hours before had thought of him as a friend, pushed a tightness into Hathel's throat that spilled now out of his eyes in streams of wetness.

"Elrond!" Hathel pleaded. "You _are_ my friend! And I yours. You should know more than anyone that I wouldn't hurt your brother!"

"One of the game keepers witnessed you standing by the cart of weapons before the match, arguing with Elros."

"We weren't arguing," Hathel pleaded. "I was trying to assure him that Andreth did love him, despite what she said."

"Do you truly wish me to believe that?" snapped Elrond, striding forward, his features coming into focus. "Just last night, leaving Lord Círdan's house, your bitterness against my brother was like a storm cloud! You attacked his honor, as well as Andreth's. How could you expect me to believe that you would change so much in so short a time?"

Hathel flinched at the anger on Elrond's face. "I _was_ jealous, and still smarting from Andreth's obvious favor for Elros," he admitted, swallowing hard. "But I didn't mean what I said! I was sorry for it very quickly, though you did not see it." Wetness he could not brush away, streamed shamelessly down his cheeks.

Elrond's chin quivered, and he turned away, putting his face into a hand.

Hathel let his head sag, weary from striving to explain himself to an unmoved, and unsympathetic listener.

A movement at the door did not bring his head up as another figure entered the room, a light haired elf, and Hathel listened half heartedly as the newcoming spoke in a low, excited voice, the words of which Hathel could not hear.

"Are you certain, Thranduil?" Elrond demanded, and Hathel lifted his head.

"I am," came the answer.

The eyes of the son of Oropher, were on him, and studied him with uncertain pity. Beside Thranduil, Elrond put a hand to his mouth, in a thoughtful, troubled gesture.

"What is it?" Hathel pleaded.

Elrond shook his head and turned away. But Thranduil studied Hathel a moment before he sighed, and spoke. "Lord Círdan ended the competition when Elros was wounded, and it proves to have been a wise choice. For he had the blades examined, and it appears that all of them were poisoned, each with a thick layer of venom. Even the one Elros held. Had he cut you first, being mortal you would have gone into agonized convusions in moments, and would have died very quickly. No one could have done anything for you."

Hathel swallowed, feeling himself grow cold. He knew Elros had let him win. Had he not-

"An empty vial was found near where the blades had been resting before the match. Near it lay a cloth, saturated with venom. We traced the vial to the apothecary from which it was taken, and also, we found a man who is willing to speak in Hathel's favor."

"What does that mean?" Hathel asked uncertainly.

"It means that Lord Círdan, my father, and the others, do not think you are guilty."

Hathel studied the eyes of the light haired elf. "I am not," he said, keeping his voice steady in spite of the emotion thickening his throat.

"No one can buy bottles of _raw venom_," Elrond muttered, turning at last, his heavy eyes fixing now upon Hathel.

"No," Thranduil agreed. "The healer who owns the shop claims that it was stolen when a mortal man entered, seeking herbs for a headache."

"Who was the mortal?" Elrond asked.

Thranduil pursed his lips, then drew a short knife from his belt, and walked to the chair where Hathel sat. A quick jerk of his knife, and the bindings loosened, his arms finally free.

Hathel remained sitting though, rubbing his wrists.

"Here," Thranduil said, offering him a hand, and a sympathetic look.

Hathel took the elf's proffered forearm, and rose to his feet.

Then he nodded to the door, where Hathel looked, noting the shadow half hidden, lingering upon the threshhold like a shy child.

"Sigil," Hathel called, managing a smile in spite of himself. And at his name, the sandy haired man grinned and stepped into the room. Hathel had always been glad to see the man, built like an ox, though with the innocence and curiosity of a child. But as he realized the reason Sigil might be here, Hathels' smile fell. "Not Sigil. He couldn't have-"

"No, it wasn't Sigil," Thranduil said quickly. "Though he has something important to tell you."

"Master Hathel," Sigil said, coming forward hesitantly, "I saw the bottle in his hand yesterday. He said the elf man in the shop gave it to him. That's what he said. I didn't know he stole it."

"_He_?" Hathel asked, reaching out and clapping a hand onto Sigil's shoulder. "Who is _he_?"

Sigil paused, his brow furrowing as if he thought the answer should be obvious to Hathel. "Well," he paused, "he is- _Lang_, sir."

...oOo...

The clatter of her mount's hooves scraped to a stop beside the door of the small building where Eönwë had carried Elros, and not looking or caring whether the son of Fëanor followed her, Aelin leaped to the ground, and scrambled to the door, flinging it open, and rushing inside.

The room was dim, but she could see Andreth kneeling beside Elros where he lay, unconscious now, upon the cot. His eyes were closed, which, for one of elven blood, meant great weariness or injury. Though Aelin noted, with tentative relief, that his chest still rose and fell, though unevenly. The maiden's arm was across the elf's bare chest, her head against his shoulder. But as Aelin rushed in, Andreth leapt up.

"Aelin?" she pleaded, her eyes gleaming with wild hope.

"I brought it," she choked, holding out the pouch.

"Bless you," Andreth cried, and snatched it from her hands. She lifted the flap, snatched out a fistful of the leaves, and dropped them in a mortar upon the table set amongst the herbs and bottles. Crushing the leaves with a pestle as she spat into the mortar, she returned to Elros' side.

"Here, my love," she breathed, scooping out the now damp mixture, and spreading it over the cut. Gently she pressed it down into the wound, eliciting a faint moan from Elros.

Aelin's lips parted in slight surprise at the maiden's endearing words to Elros. _Love?_ Indeed?

"Aelin has returned, and-" Andreth turned, her eyes lighting with pleasure at the sight of Maglor stepping through the door, the expression of glad welcome on her face grinding upon Aelin's heart.

"_Linnod_," Andreth breathed, her voice warming with gladness.

Her eyes moved now to Aelin, filling with shining gratitude, speaking more clearly than words could, how grateful she was that Aelin had sought out her enemy, so that Elros could be saved. Aelin managed a slight smile at this, the heaviness of her heart easing at the light in the eyes of the mortal maiden.

Andreth turned again now to Elros, smoothing a hand over his brow and jaw. "And Maglor is with her," she whispered.

Again Elros stirred and moaned. His eyelids fluttered. "_Otorno_," he muttered.

At that, Maglor drew in a short breath, and hurried past Aelin into the room, dropping to one knee at Elros' side opposite from Andreth.

"I am here, _Lapse titta," _he said, placing a strong hand upon the young elf's damp brow. Aelin swallowed fiercely at the tenderness in Maglor's voice and actions. And in his face. Such caring could not be feigned.

Elros did not respond, though his steady breath continued, and it was stronger and more even than before.

...oOo...

Distant calls of night animals... Voices hushed and murmuring... The slow sway of motion... A soft hand brushed against his face, sweeping him to full consciousness. Elros opened his eyes to bright stars above him as cold, sweet air filled his lungs.

The high sides of a wagon box rose about him, framing a sky scattered with stars. He lay cradled in something that swayed in gentle, rhythmic motion. The soft clop of horses' hooves sounded about him, and the shadow of mounted figures drew near above him.

A cloak lay tucked about him, his head lay cradled in a woman's lap, a hand against his face.

He stirred, wishing to sit up, but a spear of fire lanced through his chest, and a hiss of pain broke past his lips.

Above him, he heard a soft gasp and the woman stirred and moved. The soft hand drew back from his cheek, and a soft, though rough pillow, a folded blanket, slid beneath his head. Elros winced silently. He had preferred her lap. A face moved into his view, silhouetted against the pricks of starlight. The cloak about him drew back, and cold night air brushed his chest. He could not discern her features, but a feather soft lock of unbound hair tumbled down out of the darkness and trailed across his bare chest; his nostrils drank in the sweet scent that exuded from her skin, and he knew her.

_Andreth_,his lips moved. _Tindómiel, _though her name would not come forth.

"Elrond," Andreth's voice gasped, her shadow looking up and away, "he's awake." A cloth lifted away from the throbbing ache upon his chest. "And his wound is better. It is nearly fully healed. Truly the athelas is a wonder."

Elros opened his mouth, and tried again, "_Tindómiel_," he ground out.

"Lie still, my dear one. Do not move." Her face bent near his own. The cloth returned to the wound, and the cloak again was tucked about him. Another lock of her hair tumbled down and brushed across his throat, sending trails of warmth shivering through him as the coolness of her hand again smoothed against his forehead.

"Where am I? What happened?" he hissed as her hand lifted, pulling her unbound hair behind her head.

"You were hurt," she murmured. The movement of her hands in the darkness showed that she was pulling her loose tresses back. Elros wished she would leave it unbound; he had enjoyed the feel of her hair against his skin. "Your match this morning with Hathel." She sighed. "It did not go as planned."

"What happened?" Elros choked out, lifting his head, before he let it fall back. _Ai_, he wished he could remember. It was all a blur.

"You were poisoned, Elros," Andreth explained. "You are still very weak. Though you are now strong enough to move. We're returning you to Lord Círdan's house, for it is safest there." Her voice broke as she added, "You nearly died. Aelin brought the athelas in time."

A hand beneath his head tipped his face up as something blessedly cool pressed against his parched lips.

"Drink this," she murmured and he obeyed. Sweet, cold water trickled into his mouth.

As the water spigot moved back from his lips, another thought rose in his foggy mind.

He struggled to rise, but a piercing pain, and Andreth's hand against his chest, forced him back. He hissed in pain then managed with effort, "Elrond?"

"I'm here, little brother," Elrond's voice, laced with a mingling of weariness and relief, came from one of the shadowed figures mounted upon horses that rode to either side of the wagon where he lay. And his brother's face, the outline of which he could see, though he could not see his features, leaned down. Why did he need guards?

"Hathel didn't poison me," he said.

"I know," Elrond said, a note of chagrin in his voice. "Now."

"All is forgiven, Elrond," another voice said from nearby. Hathel's voice. "Do not worry."

The stars above him were blocked again by Andreth's shadow, and the sweetness of her filled his nostrils. Elros swallowed, struggling to remember. "Maglor was there," he continued.

He tried to move, though his limbs felt as if they were weighted with great stones. _Ai_, how he wished he could lift a hand to touch her.

"Yes," she said. "He is here, now."

Elros' heart jumped. "_Otorno_?" he called.

"I am here, _Lapse titta,_" a voice warm and deep sounded from the other side of the wagon, and Elros' eyes dampened. Oh, how well he had known that voice, once. The same voice that had murmured stories of long ago before the dying firelight as he'd rested against the strong shoulder, listening to the reverberations in the speaker's chest as he slowly fell into his dreams. The same voice that had soothed his nightmares and fears, and eased his childish hurts.

This wasn't all a dream, was it?

Elros turned his head toward the fragrant shadow of Andreth's face, praying that the sweet memory rising now to his conscious mind was not a construct of his own fantasies.

"And you are here, _Tindómiel," _he murmured.

"I am," her voice, soft and soothing whispered over him. "Here, drink more."

The cool spigot of the water skin once more touched his lips, and he swallowed, relishing the cool liquid that slipped down his throat.

"_Tindómiel,_" he breathed as he drew the skin away. "I love you. My heart is in your keeping, and I do not _want_ it back. Something has bound me to you."

"I think, perhaps, that it is my love for you, my dear one," she murmured. "I have been coming to love you, for some time."

"You told me you did- earlier," he gasped, trying to lift his hand. "And- and you kissed me."

"Yes, I did."

"_Tindómiel-" _Pain lanced through his chest as he lifted his arm, but Elros did not care, wanting only to reach her in the darkness, to touch her, and feel the warmth of her beneath his fingers. "I knew- somehow- I _felt_ our bond. Even before you told me the truth of your feelings."

His hand in the darkness found hers, and held fast.

"Yes, my dear one," she murmured softly. "So did I." He felt her lips, soft and moist, againts his knuckles, and tried, despite the burning pain, to sit up. With all that he was, he longed to take her into his arms, to feel her, all of her, as he felt her in his soul.

You must do something for me, Elros." Again her hand touched his chest, easing him back down.

"I will do anything for you, _Tindómiel_," he breathed.

"Then rest for me," her voice whispered in the darkness. Her soft hand caressed his cheek in the darkness. Then her fragrant shadow moved, and bent over him. Her hair fell loose again, tumbling about his face, enclosing him in a cool, sweet cloud. The softness of her young breasts pressed against his chest through the layers of cloth between them. He drew in a breath before her lips, soft and warm, brushed his, tasted, then withdrew, hovering above his own, only a breath away.

"_Tindómiel_," he moaned softly.

"Rest," she urged again, then caressed his lips with her own once more, a feather soft brush before she drew back, then lay down at his side, curling her head against his shoulder.

Elros surrendered to her words, and let himself sink again into sleep.

Above him, the stars faded and blurred, then, seemlessly, came again into sharp focus.

The careful movement of the wagon beneath him was gone, as was the clop of horses and the clatter of harness. But Andreth's fair, warm form was huddled beside him, as before.

His strength was his own again, here in this dreamland, and Elros sat up, gently withdrawing himself from the welcome arms of the maiden who shared this dream.

She stirred as well. "Elros?" she pleaded sleepily, her skirts whispering as her sweetly closed eyes fluttered open and took in the sky above her before sliding to him.

Elros folded his legs beneath him, plucked a thick grass blade and smiled at her, drinking her in with his eyes where she lay beside him, her hair pillowed about her head and shimmering in the faint silver glow of the night.

She was clad as a queen, the necklace of pearl and mithril about her fair neck, and a matching diadem of pearl and silver gracing her otherwise unbound hair. Her gown was of rich silk, pale blue, clinging to the edges of her slender shoulders, the neckline laced with threads of silver. His blood warmed at the sight of her.

"You are sleepy even when you are asleep?" he teased as she sat up.

She blushed at his words, and ducked her eyes. "Today has been a most exhausting day, fearing for you, and watching over you. I did not mean to fall asleep."

"_Tindómiel?_" he queried, and she looked up again.

"You are here also, aren't you? You are no dream maiden created only from my thoughts? We are here together?"

She dropped her eyes again, biting her lip. It was an endearing gesture, he thought. One that made her look vulnerable; in need of his comfort.

"_Tindómiel_?" he pleaded. How he longed to give her comfort.

She drew in a sigh. "We are," she admitted at last.

Elros felt his face growing warm. "And all those things I said before, to- you, when I thought you were but an image of my own dreams, _you_ heard them?"

Andreth bit her lip again, her own cheeks darkening, and nodded.

"How long have you known?"

"Since yesterday, when you gave me the necklace," she said. "You told me in a dream that you would bring me such a necklace, and yesterday, when you gave me the necklace which was an exact copy of this," she touched a hand to the pearl resting upon the pale, flawless flesh beneath the hollow of her throat, "I knew we had been sharing our dreams."

Elros smiled again, then turned and looked out to sea. "This day has been fraught with surprises. When the morning began, my heart was heavy, and now-"

"Are you angry with me?"

Her voice was soft, and uncertain, and Elros turned quickly back, his eyes widening. "Why would I be?"

"I lied, Elros. To you. I hurt you. Needlessly!"

She drew her legs up, circling her arms about her knees, and looked down, not meeting his eyes.

"To try and save me, as you saw it," he murmured, reaching out, and offering her his hand. "The intent was noble, and selfless."

She let him take her hand, soft and warm within his own, though she did not yet look up.

"From the first days of our knowing one another," she murmured, her eyes still upon the ground, "I have been troubled by conflicting desires, wanting to be near you, yet feeling that I shouldn't be. Longing to embrace you, yet fearing to do so. And as we have grown closer, these emotions have only grown stronger. I feared to be near you, yet I could not bear to be parted from you. I felt I had to choose either my loss, or yours. At first I only feared that you would be alone forever after I died, were we to fall in love. But then, when I knew you had the power to choose mortality, my fear grew, for I did not wish for you to die for my sake."

He drew nearer to her, and bending his head, pressed his lips against her open palm. "How difficult that must have been."

He looked down at her palm as he drew back, noting that even in their shared dream, the line of red was still there.

"I hid that too," she said in a soft voice. "I would not let you see it in a dream when we were together, here, the night after Aelin cut me, for I was beginning to suspect that you were sharing my dreams, and I feared if you saw it again in the waking world, you would realize I was sharing your dreams. That too, might have swayed your choice." Her voice softened. "Or so I thought."

He looked up, though her eyes did not yet lift to meet his.

"And I did not tell you," she choked, her voice broken, "that on the blade that day, Aelin had put venom, similar to what nearly killed you. I was in greater danger than I told you."

Elros started at this, alarm rising in his heart. "You could have _died_?"

"Perhaps only lost my hand. So said Elrond."

Elros gaped.

"But he and Maglor saved me with the same athelas that I used today, to save you. That was how we knew Maglor had it."

Elros released a breath, and let his fears ease. "Doubtless you did not wish me to worry over much, since the danger was beyond you anyway, or to be overly angry at Aelin."

Andreth shook her head. "But you wouldn't have been. I should have trusted you. With everything. For you are noble and true, and trustworthy. You are all things that are good-"

And you, my lady, are unutterably magnificent."

Andreth fell silent.

"Andreth, look at me," he pleaded. "Please, _Tindómiel."_ And slowly, shyly like a child, she lifted her eyes. Her gaze found his, her eyes soft and deep, green as young grass after a spring rain. Elros smiled gently. Slowly, she offered him a tremulous smile, her eyes gleaming with unshed wetness.

How timid, how vulnerable she looked, Elros thought, as his blood throbbed thickly in his veins, a mingling of ecstasy and agony at once. Every measure of strength he possessed could barely keep him from gathering her into his arms, and crushing her lips with his own. For he knew that would not be where he would wish to stop.

"You were willing to give me up, for my sake, though you did not wish to do so," he murmured, contenting himself with leaning near her, and drinking in the fragrant scent of her. "You were willing to sacrifice what you desired, so that you would not rob me of what you thought was my destiny."

He reached out, cupping her face with a hand. Soft as silk beneath his fingers. "But mortality is my destiny. It is the will of the Valar, and I accept it gladly."

Andreth's eyes grew wet at this.

"You still do not look mortal," she choked, reaching a hand out, and touching his jaw, letting it slide up his ear to caress the peaked tip.

Elros closed his eyes, relishing the touch of her hand, the feel of her gentle fingertips. The beating of his heart quickened, and his blood grew hot again despite his effort to quell it.

"I know in my heart," he murmured, his voice thickening, "that you have a glorious destiny of your own, Andreth Tindómiel. There is greatness in your that I marvel at to see, and I want so much," he swallowed, "for our destinies to be entwined."

Andreth withdrew her hand. Elros' eyes opened. Her face visibly colored, and she dropped her eyes again.

"Will you marry me?" he asked, easing nearer to her, and catching up her fallen hand, the words barely more than a breath of air from his lips.

She visibly shivered at the words, though she smiled as she did. "Do you dare yet to kiss me here?" she asked.

Elros felt his own cheeks heating now. "I dare not, especially now," he murmured. "For we are always alone here, and were I to begin kissing you, I fear I would not wish to stop until-" He drew and released a deep breath, and spoke again, his voice grown thick. "I must confess, Andreth, that I _ache_ to be one with you."

Andreth's cheeks burned in a way that Elros found wildly alluring, her eyes still upon the ground.

"But that desire," he breathed, "is tempered also by my honor for you, and I would not show you such dishonor as to wed you upon a hillock in a dream, or even in the same manner in the waking world. No matter how tempted I am. I love you too much to do so."

A small smile played across her lips at these words. Softly she murmured, "Then ask that question again in the waking world, where you do not fear to kiss me. For I do not think I could answer it, with-" she lifted her face, "with only words, my love."

Hope sprang wildly in his heart at this. "_Tindómiel_," he choked, but he got no further, for she smiled shyly, leaned forward before he could react, kissed him swiftly upon the cheek, and in a moment, vanished before his eyes.

Alone now, Elros scrambled to his feet. She had woken. She had done this before. But now, he did not feel so bereft, knowing that in truth, she was still with him, watching over him as he slept. He grinned, and touched a hand to his lips, wondering if he could feel it if she kissed him while he slept.

Turning himself about as he studied the open empty stretch of seashore, a sudden boyish sense of unfettered delight filled him, and he turned, surging up the side of the grassy slope, cresting its top with a leap and a wild whoop of joy that echoed away over the grassy land to the distant peak of the rising mountain in the far hazy shadows of night. On he ran, leaping and spinning like a young goat, heedless and careless in his ecstasy, until a stray rock struck his foot, sending him tumbling again, laughing into the grass.

"She loves me!" he shouted to the sky, "_She loves me_!" Laughter mingled with the words of unrestrained delight as he gasped in air, his eyes uplifted to the stars.

"Thank you," he cried to the sky, "Dear Ilúvatar, and all the Valar. Thank you!"

"Well," a deep voice laced with humor sounded near him, familiar and yet unfamiliar, unexpected, but unsurprising. "Thou art most welcome, son of the First and Secondborn. Most welcome. But come now, sit up young one, and let me show thee this fair vision I have made for you, the image of the land where thou wilt be king."


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Círdan paused and held back at the base of the steps into his house as a troop of elves, the mortals Hathel and Sigil among them, carried the bier upon which Elros' injured form lay through the door into the bright hall, welcome and cheerful.

Aelin climbed the steps behind them, followed by Andreth and Elrond, the mortal maiden's arm looped through the elf's. Andreth seemed weary, yet a smile played upon her lips as if some sweet secret dwelt in her heart. Círdan caught her eye as she passed him. He smiled warmly, glad to see her return his smile.

She and Elrond passed through the door into the bright hall, their steps fading.

With a sigh, the ancient shipwright turned and faced the solitary elf standing behind him.

Maglor dropped his eyes as their gazes met.

"You will not come in?"

Maglor drew in a deep breath and dropped his eyes. "I cannot."

Círdan heaved a breath, and stepped nearer to Fëanor's last living son.

Beyond Maglor's shoulder, down within the city, merry lights gleamed on both sides of the river and the wide bay. Upon the water floated many boats, strung with gleaming lanterns. The distant trill of music reached his ears, and the harmony of many voices singing and laughing. The news that Elros would recover had washed through the city like a cleansing wave, and restored the playful mood of the Harvest Festival, for which Círdan was glad. But here, Maglor's countenance was morose.

"Your heart is not evil, Maglor, son of Fëanor."

"I still have blood on my hands, Lord Círdan. You know this." Maglor put a hand to his chest. "No matter how sorry I am, I cannot bring back those I killed. I will ever be unworthy to enter the homes of elves whose hands are unstained with the blood of their kin."

Círdan drew in a breath and contemplated these words. "There are those, Maglor," he said, "whose hearts are truly evil, who would deny so to themselves and others, and would without shame enter my house, and the houses and cities of other honorable folk. The mortal Lang, who tried to murder Elros, is such a man. You are not as he."

"I have done things I cannot undo," Maglor insisted. "That I recognize and voice such redeems me but little, if at all."

He drew in a breath. "I could not rest well anyway. My heart is still ill at ease, for the renegade Lang who tried to kill Elros has not yet been taken. We do not know where he has fled, and I know these lands and woods well. I could try to find him, track him. I worry for anyone he may try to hurt."

Círdan nodded, recalling the events of the day after the truth of Elros' attacker had been made known. Lang's dwelling was empty when Círdan and the armed elves he had brought with him had entered it. And nowhere in the city was the man to be found. The lands near and about Mithlond had been scoured by the most skilled scouts, but the man had disappeared. Sigil had been the last to see him, and that had been in the morning. Where Lang was now, none could say, though he had likely departed in the crowds from the market where even elven scouts could not detect one set of footprints in the crowd for another.

"The mortals who dwell nearby have been warned, and know to be wary that he is about," Círdan said. "But any help in finding him is welcome. Remember though, it will do Elros' heart good to speak to you when he is awake, both he and Elrond."

"I will remember that." Maglor drew a step back, and a faint smile touched his lips. "Farewell, Shipwright. You and all your house."

"May you fare well also, Fëanorion." Círdan offered the dark-haired elf a nod which Maglor returned before he darted away, around the corner of the horse stables, and toward the line of trees that bordered the grassy plain, silver beneath the starlight.

With a sigh, Círdan turned and climbed the steps, the light and warmth enveloping him as he stepped inside.

...oOo...

Andreth studied Elros' palm as she sat beside his bed, cradling his lightly tanned arm with her own, while with her other hand, she ran her fingers lightly over the creases of his palm and fingers, and up his forearm to his elbow and back again. She had never studied his arm and hand this intently before, and she found herself thoroughly entranced. His arm was muscled and lean, his hand strong and calloused. She turned his hand over, and gently ran her finger over the line of a small scar that crossed his knuckles, wondering what fearsome battle during the War of Wrath told the story of this scar. This was his right arm, his hand that had gripped his sword during the War of Wrath, and when that- a shiver trembled through her at the memory- the man who had attacked her three months ago, and Elros had used his sword in her defense. Elros had not even known her before that day. He had not known if she was fair or plain, old or young, married or unwed when he had heard her scream and charged through the forest to save her. He had known only that she was in danger. Nothing more. And now, the man's cousin wanted vengeance for Elros' noble deed.

Vengeance? Andreth's mind recoiled at the thought. What wrong had Elros done to justify such hatred? What led someone to try to kill him, when Elros had only acted in the selfless defense of another?

Andreth sighed, and answered the question herself. The same mindless hatred that would lead a man to waylay a defenseless maiden. Such men had let Morgoth's lies enter their hearts, and had not rooted them out. _Lang_. The man who had tried to kill Elros yesterday. And- _Lhûg_. She shuddered to put a name to the face that swam again before her thoughts, remembering the crushing feel of his body, the stink and weight of him, the feel of his hands clawing her, the despair, and then, blessed, unlooked for relief when Elros had surged into the clearing, and torn the man off of her, flinging him across the clearing. She saw again the blade in the man's hand, the rage on his face, the flash of Elros' sword, the blood, and the man fallen. Dead.

Andreth shrank closer to Elros' side, comforted by his nearness, though he was asleep. Not all the evil was gone from the world. And now someone wanted to hurt her dear one.

She lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. He was beyond danger now, and merely needed to rest. She knew it, but still she did not want to sleep. Not until he woke and his gaze met hers. She looked again toward his face, the coverlet drawn half way up his chest, a bandage wrapped over his shoulder and under his arm to protect the healing cut. His eyes gazed at the ceiling in restful sleep. She was glad of this, for his eyes had been closed much of the day before. Only in extreme exhaustion or injury did an elf close his eyes during sleep. And so she was glad as she studied his unfocused gaze, deep and sea grey, and as vast as eternity.

Elros seemed no different than before he had spoken the words that had shaken her to her very soul, _I choose a mortal life_. For such, she realized now, was the will of the Valar. His destiny was mortality. And he wished her to be a part of that destiny. Her heart glowed at this thought, even as a faint sense of grief lingered.

Elros still slept like an elf. He still looked like an elf. And the elven blood in his veins had stayed off the evil of the poison long enough for Aelin to bring the athelas. Andreth shivered slightly, knowing what would have happened if it had not.

Tentatively, Andreth reached out, and touched the edge of Elros jaw, feeling the warm, supple skin, the tautness of the sinews beneath, then let her finger trail up the outer edge of his ear, as she had done in their shared dream, until she reached the tip, feeling the warm firm skin, and the the flexible cartilage beneath his ear's tip.

In his sleep Elros shifted a little. _Tindómiel, _his lips moved. But he did not awaken.

Andreth withdrew her hand, and studied his face. Lowering her own eyes to the palm of her hand, she studied the red mark upon it, remembering how it had stung the day he had arrived home, and how his soft lips, like magic upon her skin, had banished the last of the sting. Perhaps it had been the power of his elven grace that had banished the pain, but what if it was something more?

With a soft sigh, Andreth reached over him, and gently loosened the knot of the bandage, then gingerly drew the cloth back to study the wound. The edges of the wound were red, but healing far more quickly than were he fully mortal.

Her heart thumping within her, Andreth stood and leaned over Elros, pressed a kiss to her thumb, then caressed the healing line of red with the tip of her thumb where the feeling of her lips still lingered.

In his sleep, Elros shifted, and a soft moan, not of pain but of pleasure escaped his lips. She turned her eyes to his face, her heart lightening to see the faint smile there. Perhaps her touch had worked upon his wound, as his had, upon hers. Content, she tied the knot of his bandage again in its place, and sank again to her seat, clasping his hand once more.

Several paces away, Elrond who lay on the divan, his arm beneath his head, stirred a little. She turned and looked over at him. His open eyes appeared to gaze out the wide glass door onto Elros' balcony, the stars in the west still visible, though she could see the sky beginning to lighten.

He stirred again. His unfocused eyes blinked and turned toward her, smiling as he sat up.

"Haven't you slept at all, little sister?"

Andreth smiled at his pet name for her, which he used liberally now.

"I had a few minutes last night, in the wagon."

"A few minutes?" Elrond chided as he rose to his feet. "Take some rest, Andreth. I'll look over him."

"I want to be here when he wakes," she insisted.

At that, a tap sounded at the door before it opened, and Círdan entered.

"Is all well?" the shipwright asked, smiling through his silver beard as his eyes twinkled, meeting her own.

"Elros is still sleeping," Elrond said, moving to Andreth's side and placing a hand upon her shoulder. "But Andreth has hardly done so."

"Nor eaten since yesterday morning, I'll wager," Círdan added.

"But I am well enough," Andreth said even as her hand moved to her stomach to quiet a grumble of hunger that bit at her.

"_And_ she is being obstinant." Elrond gave a short chuckle.

The silver-haired elf moved to her, and bent, gathering both of her hands. "Come, child. Take some food, and rest-" he turned to the dark haired elf now, "Both you and Elrond."

Andreth lifted her eyes, studying first Círdan's, then Elrond's. Then she turned, and gazed over Elros once more. "Very well," she sighed at last, and rose to her feet. "Tell me when he wakes."

Círdan smiled. "I think he will be the one to tell you."

She felt Elrond's hand upon her elbow, helping her as she rose to her feet. "Come, little sister," he said, and she obeyed his gentle lead, and followed him out the door.

...oOo...

"Where is everyone?" Andreth wondered as she and Elrond, her arm looped through his, walked along the empty hall toward the kitchens. Andreth eyed a cushioned divan against the wall, wishing she could cast decorum to the wind, curl up upon it, and fall asleep there in the hall. She doubted she would even have the strength to climb the stairs again to her own chamber.

"At the Harvest Festival," Elrond said. "Remember this?" He reached up on her head, and handed her a circlet of flowers, now withered.

"Lord Eönwë's gift," she mused. "He thought I was the fairest maiden there."

"You were," Elrond heaved a prolonged sigh as he added, "And his judgement is faultless. In all of Mithlond, you _are_ the loveliest, little sister. Truly, I could only imagine one face in all the world that could surpass you."

Andreth glanced askance at him. His voice had been wistful, and a faint smile as at a far memory, touched his lips. "The maiden in your dreams?" she asked. "The one whose face you drew?"

Elrond's face colored a little, and he nodded. "The same."

A soft sound of voices from the open door beside them found their ears, and Elrond turned his head gazing into the wide weaving room. Andreth recognized the voices as those of Galadriel and her lord, Celeborn.

"And who wove this tapestry?" Celeborn's resonant tones sounded easily through the doorway.

"Andreth did," Galadriel replied. "Her work is very fine, is it not? Look at the detail."

Andreth grinned, beaming with pleasure that the lady would praise her work so well.

"There is one I think you will like, especially, Celeborn," Galadriel continued.

"The lord and lady must not have gone down to the festivities yet." Elrond turned to Andreth with a grin. "Perhaps we can break our fast with them."

"Go ahead." Andreth nodded through the door into the light and airy weaving room. "I will sit here a moment."

Wearily, she moved to the inviting divan, and sank down onto it, leaning against the high arm as she set the dried circlet of flowers upon a small table beside her. She smiled after him as Elrond moved through the door and was gone, then with a sigh, lay her head down upon her arm, and curled her legs up beside her.

"Elrond!" the welcome voice of Lord Celeborn greeted him as Elrond entered the ladies' weaving room, and looked about him at the looms, drawing in the welcome scent of new cloth. Both Celeborn and his lady turned, smiling in greeting at his approach.

Elrond was grateful for their kindly smiles, for they lifted his heavy heart. His brother was now beyond the danger of the poison, but still the words he had spoken yesterday reverberated in Elrond's mind, and though he could push the thought aside for now, for his brother's sake, and for Andreth's, still the knowledge loomed, a dark cloud, just beyond his horizon that with mortality, would come eventual, inescapable-

Elrond did not wish to think the word- _death_, and instead, let his eyes rise to the tapestry they stood before. He stopped in wonder, all other thoughts put suddenly aside. Two elven men, himself and his brother Elros, stood near to one another beneath a sky, dark but for a bright star shining in the sky above them.

"Ah, Elrond," Galadriel greeted, pleasure glowing in her voice. "You have never seen Andreth's tapestries, have you?"

"Andreth-" Elrond queried, his gaze fixed upon the tapestry. "She was the one- Her hands fashioned this?"

Now he noted, with a grin, how the tapestry betrayed a slight favor for the image of his brother, which stood somewhat to the fore of the scene, and looked directly out of the tapestry.

"Her skill-" he murmured, "is astounding. She rivals women who have been weaving for centuries."

"If you are pleased by this, Elrond," Galadriel urged, "you should see this one. Though it is not yet finished, you may like it even more."

The golden-haired lady touched Elrond's elbow and urged him now toward a loom several steps away, turned partway from him.

As he moved around to the front of the loom, he met the blue eyes of the maiden upon the unfinished tapestry, her eyes gazing soulfully out of the cloth.

Elrond's heart fairly stopped at the sight of her.

"Andreth says that she fashioned this image after a drawing _you_ created," offered Galadriel.

Elrond did not speak as his eyes moved over the features of the maiden. Vines and flowers were the backdrop to her lovely face and slender throat which were finished, as were her slender shoulders veiled in what looked to be a white gown, and much of her long, silver hair. This _was_ the very maiden of his dreams! He swallowed and reached out, touching a hand to the face upon the cloth, almost surprised that he felt fabric beneath his fingers, not the warmth of soft, supple skin.

"It is her," he murmured. "The maiden in my dreams."

Elrond stood back, shaking his head in wonder. "Andreth," he breathed, his heart swelling with gratitude. He turned then, and strode out the door.

"Little sister-" he began, moving toward Andreth who lay half inclined where he had left her. But he stopped. For the mortal maiden, her head inclined upon her arm that rested upon the arm of the divan, lay with closed eyes in the manner of mortals, fast asleep.

...oOo...

Andreth awoke with a start, sat up upon the divan where she had fallen into sleep, and looked about her. From the light falling through the windows down the hall, she noted that evening was drawing close. Had she slept the day away? Without dreaming once?

Despite her disappointment, she felt rested now, but still her stomach burned furiously, reminding her that it had been nearly two days since she had eaten. A tray of fruit, and a clear glass of water, however, had been placed upon the table near her head. Hungrily, she snatched an apple and bit into it, wishing she could sate her hunger faster before she plucked up a bunch of red grapes and started biting the small round fruits right off the vine, barely chewing before she swallowed, heedless in her hunger, of the bits of twig she swallowed with each grape.

"Ah, I was wondering when you would waken," Círdan's voice called, and Andreth turned her head, seeing the silver-haired shipwright descending the staircase from the upper halls. Aelin walked a step behind him, clad in a bright gown, though she carried a towel in her hand, brushing her hands with it as she came.

Andreth swallowed, guessing that they had been alerted by the noise of her eating. She scrambled to her feet, blushing, and silently cursing her mortal clumsiness as the elves approached.

"How is Elros?" Andreth asked setting down her cluster of grapes beside her.

"Still sleeping, though I do not doubt he will wake soon," Círdan assured her. "He has been stirring more and more, and not long ago, he murmured your name."

Andreth's heart quavered at this. "Then I should go to him, now," she said, turning toward the stairs.

"But I've drawn a warm bath for you, and fresh clothing is waiting," Aelin urged, touching a hand to Andreth's arm and stopping her. "It would do you good to refresh yourself, and come with me down into Mithlond to see the sights. The dancing will begin soon. That will cheer you after all the difficulty yesterday."

"But when Elros awakens?" she worried.

"Elrond is with him now," Círdan assured. "And when Elros wakes, I am certain he will want to seek you out at the festival, and will be pleased when he finds you." The shipwright's eyes twinkled before he added, "In his sleep he also said something- about a promised dance, I believe."

"Yes- I did promise him a dance. And one to Master Hathel also," she recalled before a faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips and she said, "Though my heart looks forward more toward dancing with Elros."

Aelin's eyes danced with light. "It is true then- you love Elros?"

Andreth's flushed cheeks answered the question before her voice did. "Yes. And he loves me as well."

Aelin's mouth drew up in a slow, but glad smile. "Then all the more reason to make yourself lovely for him," Aelin insisted, taking Andreth by the hand. "Come. I have some tindómiel flowers I can weave into your hair. That will please him, I think."

...oOo...

Andreth sat at her dressing table studying her face in the polished mirror as Aelin busied herself with the maiden's hair, tucking in small white flowers that glowed now in the semidarkness of the room.

"When you first came to Mithlond, I thought that your heart would lead you to Master Hathel," Aelin admitted, her reflection meeting Andreth's eyes in the mirror. "I had never imagined that your heart and the heart of Lord Elros would twine together as they have."

Andreth swallowed. "Do you disapprove, Aelin?" she pleaded.

Aelin smiled at this, a reassuring smile, and shook her head. "No, dear one, I do not disapprove. It was only a surprise to me." She added, "A pleasant one."

The elven woman sighed and continued. "And as I think on it, I feel the rightness of your bond. And of Elros choice." Her smile twitched slightly. "I must confess, I was saddened by it. But I feel great things yet unseen will come of your union."

Her hand tugged gently, securing another flower into the tresses of Andreth's hair. "When Lord Elros is awake, Lord Círdan and Lord Elrond will bring him down into the city, and he will seek for you there." Her reflection smiled, meeting Andreth's eyes in the mirror. "I intend to make certain that his breath is entirely taken away."

Andreth blushed as her eyes moved over the soft whorls of her hair, the pearl necklace at her throat, and the gown of silken cream that graced her young body. She studied the long flow of her skirt and sleeves, the low scoop of her neck, the fabric of her gown that flattered her soft curves. She had worn this same cream white gown the night Elros had given her the epessë he had chosen, and they had walked together along the shore to his cave where he had tried to kiss her.

Like Aelin, she too hoped that her appearance would please Elros, but she did not wish his breath to be taken away, not fully. For she wished him to have enough breath to ask her at least one question.

She reached a hand forward, careful not to interrupt Aelin's work, and slid open one of the drawers, revealing within the bright silver ring Elros had given her the first time he had asked her to marry him. She studied it in the faint light of the candles, admiring its soft, pure gleam, then reverently slid it into a small pocket upon the belt of her gown, and let a satisfied smile touch her lips.

"I think you will be pleased," Aelin said. "Festival nights are as lively as days, though there is a bit more mystery at night, and the children are all put to bed. The torches all along the streets lend to the mood, as do the minstrels, whose music at one time is bright and lively, and makes the revelers join hands and dance all about in a merry line. And at others, the music grows soft and sweet. To this, couples dance alone, often in the shadows, that they might steal a quick kiss."

Aelin again met Andreth's eyes in the mirror and she smiled, though her lips trembled faintly.

"You will see your love again, one day," Andreth said, reaching up and giving the elven lady's hand a gentle squeeze.

Aelin returned the squeeze before rallying. "And you," she returned in a teasing voice, "shall see yours much sooner."

...oOo...

As a breath of air filled his lungs, the ceiling above his head filled his eyes, and at the edges of his vision, Elrond and Círdan stood over him, the shipwright grinning.

"Slept well, little brother?" queried Elrond.

Elros sat up, rotating his shoulder, wincing at the anticipated sting beneath the cloth of his bandage. But it did not come. He touched a hand to the bandage there, and lifted his brows when he felt no pain. He had expected at least a little; nothing to the shards of flame that had shot though his body the day before, but at least a faint sting. Yet there was nothing. And the heavy weakness was gone that had weighted him down the night before, keeping him from gathering Andreth into his arms as he had wanted. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and rose experimentally to his feet.

"Where is Andreth?" he asked, glancing toward the window.

The sun had set, her flaming tresses reaching across the sky, igniting the whisps of cloud that floated there.

"She was by your side all day yesterday, and on until this morning," Elrond said. "She slept only a few minutes last night."

"Yes, I remember," Elros said with a nod. "But-"

"We had to drag her away from your side this morning to take rest and food," Círdan said with a chuckle. "And then, she was so weary, she fell asleep on one of the seats in the hallway downstairs before she could reach the kitchens."

Elros grinned. "But where is she now?"

"The festival," said Círdan. "And to that, we had to use much persuasion with her, for once she awakened, she wanted to return to your side. But Mistress Aelin and I assured her that when you awoke, you would go seek her out."

"Then I will do so." Elros turned, starting for the door.

"Ah, not garbed as you are," protested Círdan. "It would not do to go about in Mithlond in naught but your sleeping breeches."

Elros paused and looked down at himself, at his lean, corded torso, bare except for the bandage on his chest, and at his loose sleeping breeches hanging low about his hips.

"I must tell her something important."

"You may do so, once you've bathed and dressed," chuckled Círdan, pointing to the open door of the bathing room.

Elros heaved a breath, and obeyed, starting toward the open door, and the admittedly inviting cloud of warm steam rising from the bath within.

"What is so important, little brother, that you wish to go to her so quickly?" Elrond said, and a grin teased at the corners of his mouth. "Aside from what is obvious."

Elros paused in the doorway and turned. His eyes moved from Círdan to his brother. "Among many other things? I have seen and spoken with one of the Valar. Lord Irmo himself, Elrond."

Elrond and Círdan did not speak, though their brows raised, and Círdan smiled.

"And he had much to show me."

...oOo...

Laughter and song rang out about them as Andreth drank in the sights about her, the sounds, the voices, the sweet smell of night, and of torches burning.

Aelin had been right, Andreth admitted to herself as she and her elven friend scurried through the streets arm in arm beneath the dancing light of the torches set high upon brackets that lined the streets, bathing all below them in dancing lights and shadow. All about her, men and women, clad in their finest garb moved toward the market square of Mithlond, a wide flat plaza of paving stones, where much of the music and dancing could be found. She felt cheered by the mood, and the music that grew louder the nearer they drew along the street to the square, then found themselves, in a moment, in the wide openness of the market square where merry revelers now danced.

Upon one side of the square, half in shadow, a band of musicians played upon harps, flutes and tamborines, filling the air with bright music. Within the center of the square, dancers moved in time to the harmony of a merry song, the steps ones she had learned at Círdan's house.

"My ladies, I am pleased to see you. Your presence tells me that Lord Elros is well."

With her arm linked through Aelin's, Andreth turned to meet Hathel's eyes.

He smiled as their gazes met, his eyes traveling over her face with a gaze that revealed his lingering affection for her, yet also a willingness to bow his defeat graciously. For a long moment, his eyes lingered upon the white flowers woven into her hair, and his smile grew soft, and reminiscent.

"He is, thank you," Aelin offered when Andreth found herself unable to speak.

"I am pleased." Hathel glanced gratefully toward Aelin before turning his eyes back to Andreth.

"My lady Andreth," he offered, his voice grown tremulous. He reached out and took her hand, bowing over it with the grace of an elven lord.

"I know where your heart lies, fair daughter of Beldir. But would you honor me with a single dance?"

"I would be the one honored," Andreth said with a smile, loosing Aelin's arm as she let Hathel lead her out into the midst of the dancing couples.

The music of the minstrels filling the air changed then, the cheerful song of their instruments changing to a slower, more mellow tune.

He turned to her now, and his hand found her waist as her own hand rested upon his shoulder, his left hand clasping her right.

Hathel's eyes smiled upon her, a mixture of emotions rising and ebbing behind his eyes. His hand that cradled hers, and his shoulder beneath her palm were strong and sturdy, but also gentle. His strength was a testament to his dedication to his craft. So many of the stones here in Mithlond, even those beneath their feet, had been carved by him, his father, his grandfather. A city, Andreth mused as she studied the young mortal's eyes, that would last through all the ages of the world. Ages that he would not see. Nor would she. Nor would- Elros.

"I am happy for you." Hathel's words pulled her from her quieting thoughts as they moved together to the rhythm of the song.

Andreth smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Hathel,"

Hathel sighed. "He loves you. Deeply, Andreth."

"And I love him."

Hathel drew in a sigh and looked away for a moment, his jaw growing taut as if he battled with some internal agony. "You know, or perhaps have guessed that I have also come to love you, Andreth," he murmured, his eyes turning back to her own.

Andreth blinked at the wetness suddenly filling her eyes. "I am honored by your regard, Hathel," she choked. "You are a good man, and you deserve to be loved in return. But I am not the one who will do so."

"I understand," he said. "There is no bitterness in my heart. I know he will make you happy."

"You are good and honorable, Hathel," she assured him. "And someday, some blessed woman whose heart is free will see that, and she will love you, and you will love her, and what you will have together, will be greater than you can now imagine."

To this, Hathel dropped his eyes. He did not speak, but she could see in his face that he did not believe her.

"Hathel," she murmured.

The music stopped, and so did their dance, yet Andreth did not yet back away from him. She reached up and touched his face, feeling the warmth of the skin, the strength of his jaw. He let her turn his face to hers, and she swallowed, seeing the wetness in his eyes. "You will find love again," she said. "In one who returns your love as you deserve. There is truth in what I say. I wish you could feel it."

The young stonemason sighed at this, and strove to smile. He took her hand, drawing it gently from his face. And clasping her other hand, he brought them both together, holding them between his own. "I hope that you will always count me a friend, Andreth."

"Always, Hathel," she murmured. To this, Hathel smiled again, released her hands, stepped back, and turned away, fading into the crowd, and the mottled, dancing shadows the torchlight cast.

Andreth stood alone in the square for a long moment watching after him until at last she turned away and started toward the edges of the square, seeking Aelin.

Her friend she saw seated to the side between Elrond and Círdan, talking with them. And where Aelin had once stood-

Andreth stopped short, her breath coming more swiftly as her eyes found Elros, tall and beautiful beneath the torchlight, clad in fine breeches and tunic, his hair drawn back behind his ears in two small braids, the rest hanging in smooth ebony waves over his strong shoulders and down his back.

She drew in a quick breath as he smiled, his broad chest rising and falling with increased rapidity as their eyes met. He started toward her now, striding with the natural grace of a young lion, and warm desire flooded her core.

Andreth's hand moved to her belt, touching the small pocket where she felt the impress of the betrothal ring as he stopped a pace from her, the air between them thickening with unspoken emotion.

"_Tindómiel_," he murmured. He offered her a regal bow, his eyes dancing. "My heart sings to see you."

Andreth dipped into a graceful curtsy, her eyes downturned. Her breath was swift now, her breasts rising and falling beneath the creamy fabric of her gown.

"My heart sings also to see you, _Rau amin_." She rose again.

Elros paused and leaned nearer a fraction. "I am _your lion_?" he breathed, his smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

"It suits you, I think," she murmured demurely. "For you are looking well now, my lord." She felt her face warming. "Very well."

"Thanks to your care," he replied.

"Your wound does not hurt?"

"Not at all," he murmured, rolling his shoulder slightly. "And that, I suspect, is also thanks to your care."

Andreth ducked her head again. A gentle song, slow and soft, like a night wind, began to waft through the air, and couples again began gathering in the square, their forms blending into one beneath the dancing shadows of the torches.

"My lady?"

Andreth lifted her eyes to find Elros' gaze delving into her own, a hopeful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Offering her his hand in much the same way Hathel had, Elros queried, "May I have the honor of this dance?"

Andreth drew in a deep breath and slipped her hand into his. The only contact between them was the gentle grip of their hands. But in that one touch, the warmth of his fingers combined with the fire that simmered in his eyes, Andreth felt the quiet power of the passions that he felt for her, and which she felt for him tangling and weaving together, though bridled as yet, and her heart quickened.

"The honor is mine, my lord."


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

All about Andreth, the world faded into a blur of music and light as Elros touched her waist with one hand, and took her hand in his other.

The cloth was thick at Elros' shoulder where her hand came to rest, yet still she could feel the subtle shifting of his muscles as he began to guide her in time to the soft, sweet music, his steps graceful, and his hand at her waist strong and sure.

Beneath the torchlight, his deep sea grey eyes swallowed her, and Andreth let herself drown in them, her hand at his shoulder trembling and tightening, knowing that she was safe in his embrace.

At this, Elros smiled. His own hand at her hip tightened, and pulled her closer to himself.

Andreth's heart quickened at the sensation of his hand sliding gently from her hip around her waist to the small of her back. Her own hand slid over his shoulder to his back, where the sinews of his shoulder blade moved and shifted beneath her fingers.

"Ah," Elros said at last, his voice low and warm beneath the music to which they danced. "This is much better."

Andreth's brow furrowed. "Than what?"

Elros tipped his head as if the answer should be clear. "Than being parted from you," he said. Then with a grin, he added, "After all, you are far prettier than my brother, or Lord Círdan."

Andreth laughed lightly at his words, and at the playful gleam that now danced in his eyes. To this, Elros' smile eased, though the look of admiration still lingered in his gaze.

"I love the light that shines in your eyes when you laugh," he murmured. "It is like light in the forest, dancing on the green of young leaves."

Andreth's heart softened at this, warm desire flooding her at the softened tones of his voice. "I am glad the light in my eyes pleases you," she whispered.

"Everything about you pleases me," Elros breathed, his voice deepening, and growing softer.

Against the small of her back, his hand trembled slightly, and Andreth grew aware of the mighty restraint he was using. Yet the closeness of their bodies, near, but not touching, was not helping his strength of will.

Sliding her hand back up to his shoulder, she gently pushed him back so that his own hand moved from the small of her back, back to her hip. His hand trembled slightly, his brows quivered, but he honored her silent request, and remained at the distance she had dictated.

"Everything?" she queried.

"Everything," he confirmed. "And much of what pleases me, is not at first visible."

Andreth smiled. "Explain," she said, though she already guessed what he meant.

Elros grinned in return. "As you wish, my lady."

He did not press closer to her now, but he bent his head down nearer to her own, so that their brows nearly touched, and softly murmured, "Since the day we met, something about you drew me to you. That first day, I thought it was only pity. You had been through a terrible ordeal, and had nearly been robbed of your maidenhood. And, as it was clear to me that you were also wonderfully lovely, I thought that much of what drew me to you, was your beauty." Elros sighed and confessed, "While your beauty _is_ intoxicating, I was drawn to you for far more than that. For I discovered quickly, your inquisitive mind, your love of learning, and your- _ah_, Tindómiel the raw purity of your goodness, and honor! You had made Firiel's life so wonderful, simply by being in it. By being so good to her, and kind."

"She made _my_ life wonderful," Andreth sighed, suddenly somber, and missing her friend.

How was she? Was she well? Was their neighbor Lómë better? She had been ill in Firiel's last letter, written by the hand of Baran, Lómë's husband.

"Nothing but your own choices made you be kind in return. You could have been bitter at your lot," Elros explained. "In truth, Firiel has but little in the way of material goods. But you do not care for such things. Because of who you choose to be, you can be happy in a shepherd's cottage, or-" his voice softened, "or in a king's palace."

Andreth smiled at the praise, struggling to check her breathing, and bridle her own rising desire, kindled all the more by the beautiful things he was saying.

"I confess," Elros continued, "that the day Elrond and I left your dwelling, I was eager to go. Aside from my admiration of your beauty, I did not understand what I felt, and feared it."

Andreth's brow furrowed, and she began to open her mouth, though Elros quickly cut her off.

"It was not your mortality I feared, it was something more. The goodness of your heart, the nobility of your character and bearing, though you lived in a tiny hut and cared for an old woman who was not even of your kin astounded me, and I felt- I felt- _lowly _compared to you. Unworthy of what I was beginning to feel-"

Elros closed his eyes and shivered a little. "And when I returned with the basket you had dropped, and saw you there at that silvan pool, my heart grew all the more tangled. But it would not have been seemly to stay and explore what I felt, and so I had to turn and leave you, though it felt as if I were tearing my heart out to do so.

"But my thoughts of you had burned themselves in my mind. I knew I could not forget them, though a thousand years passed." He drew in a ragged sigh, and released it. "That night in Círdan's house I begged the Valar either to root out my memories of you altogether, or show me something, anything, a sign of some kind, that we were to be together."

Elros smiled, his eyes brimming with wetness, and gleaming like stars. "And it was the next day that you and Firiel came to Mithlond."

An expression as at a sweet memory touched his face. "I still remember the moment I saw you again. I had been working at the tower, the heat of the sun, and the sweat upon by back, the strain of my muscles as I worked, your face ever before my thoughts, and then- feeling something. I remember turning, and seeing you walking beside Maidh, with Firiel riding her. I was so pleased, I had to hold myself back from rushing to you, and taking you in my arms. And it was that night that our shared dreams began. I did not know we shared them. I only knew they were very real to me. And that I had my faculties, and reason, for which I was grateful. I would never wish to betray, or dishonor you, or to be in any way less than what you deserve."

Lost in his eyes, Andreth was only faintly aware that somewhere, far away, the music had stopped. The steps of their dance halted, and her hand released his, only to move to his chest as his hand lowered to her waist.

"Andreth," he continued, his breath washing her lips, "I have so much to tell you, but first I must-"

He paused and touched his chest, fleeting disappointment entering his eyes. "The ring I meant to give you-"

"I have it," Andreth gasped. She reached into the pocket on her belt, and withdrew the silver betrothal ring. "I've had it since-"

"Oh," he murmured as Andreth gently lay the small silver ring in the center of his palm.

"You did- give it to me," she said, her voice small. "But I-"

"Shh," Elros breathed, his eyes gleaming. "All is well, now. Let us speak no more of regrets."

From within his jerkin, he withdrew an identical ring, though slightly larger, and placed it in her palm, closing her fingers about it.

"Andreth," he said, his voice growing swift and breathless, "before I ask you this question that is weighting my heart, I must tell you something, for I do not wish for you to speak your answer without knowing what I have learned."

Elros drew in a deep, ragged breath.

"Last night, after you woke and I was alone in our dream land, someone came to me."

At the expression in his deep grey eyes, Andreth felt a stillness descend upon her, and she strained closer to him, sensing the import of his next words.

"Lord Irmo himself," he continued in a whisper. "He said that the dream land where you and I have been meeting is a vision he has created for us, of a blessed land which is being raised up out of the ocean far to the west. As a gift to the faithful of the Second Born. It will lie between this land, and the Blessed Realm, and will be called by several names in its life and history, Elenna-nórë, Westernesse-" he drew in a ragged breath, "Númenor."

Elros smiled, his eyes afire as Andreth studied them, hardly daring to blink for the wonder that was filling her at his words. "He said that I am to go there, with all the faithful Edain that will, who have served the All Father and the Valar and that I am to be their first king."

Andreth's lips parted in wonder before Elros withdrew a step and lowered himself to one knee as he had in the cave, gazing up at her with eyes that glowed with ardor and devotion.

"You would make a wonderful first queen of this blessed land, for your goodness and your wisdom would benefit our people in marvelous ways." A deep breath swelled in his chest. "But more to me than that, I love you, and desire you as my wife. Andreth Tindómiel, daughter of Beldir of the House of Bëor, will you take this ring, betroth yourself to me, and take my troth in return?"

She closed her eyes, struggling to calm her breathing. She swayed a little, and reached out, grasping his shoulders to steady herself.

Beneath her hands, Elros rose again to his feet, his strong hands coming to rest against her hips. Through the cloth, she could feel his fingers trembling.

"Will you marry me?" he whispered.

Andreth opened her eyes, and looked up at him, losing herself in the depths of his sea grey eyes, the feel of his arms beneath her own, and his hands at her waist.

"Yes," she breathed, and through the cloth of her gown, his hands trembled, and his breath swelled in his chest. "Yes, _Rau amin, _I will. I want nothing more than to be yours, and to take you as my own."

Elros smiled, and lifted his hand, brushing his fingers against her cheek.

Her own hand strayed along his shoulder to his throat, touching against the wild throbbing visible beneath the warm flesh. For a moment, she studied the rhythmic pulse.

The sound of a masculine voice clearing its throat sounded nearby, and drew Andreth back to reality, remembering that she and Elros were not alone.

"If you would kindly indulge your friends and kin for but a moment, Lord Elros, and Lady Andreth, we would be most appreciative."

Drawing in a breath, Andreth stepped back from Elros, and turned toward Círdan's voice.

The silver haired elf sat upon a carven chair not far away, with Aelin at his side, and Elrond not far away. And to Andreth's surprise, so also were the lady Galadriel and her lord Celeborn, as well as the high king Gil Galad, and Oropher. And about the square, all other revelers were now facing them, smiling beneath the dancing torchlight. And the minstrels' music was still.

Humor danced in the eyes of the silver haired shipwright. But what caught Andreth's attention in an instant, was the figure coming now from the street leading into the market square; a bent, silver haired mortal lady, leaning heavily upon the arm of Oropher's son, Thranduil.

She did not look remarkable; clad in simple garb, her back bent from age and work. But at the sight of her, Andreth caught a gasp of emotion and delight.

As their eyes met, Firiel's eyes brightened, and a smile that filled Andreth's heart with light, drew up her wrinkled lips.

"Firiel!" Andreth cried, darting from Elros' side and flying into the welcome arms of her old friend.

"Oh, my dear one!" Firiel cried, her thin arms pulling Andreth to her with surprising strength. Andreth pressed her face against Firiel's shoulder, drinking in the scent of her, the sweet, earthy smell that she had loved so well, and had missed these long months away from her.

"Lavaniel, our goat? She is well?"

"Baran and his good family are looking after her for now," Firiel returned. "But come." She pushed the maiden back to arm's length. A soft laugh escaped the aging mortal lady as glad tears filled her eyes. "I have interrupted your betrothal ceremony, and torn you away from the side of Lord Elros."

Andreth tightened her fist about the silver ring she still held in her fist, and looked questioningly into Thranduil's eyes.

"Lord Círdan bid me go fetch her this morning, saying that the exchange of rings would be tonight, here," the young elf explained.

Andreth opened her mouth, and turned back, seeking the ancient shipwright who smiled, but did not speak.

"Madam," Elros greeted, his voice warm and welcoming as he came to Firiel's side, and took her hand, bowing over it as if she were a queen. "I am honored to see you once again."

"And I you, my goodly lord," Firiel pressed a hand to her heart, her eyes bright as they moved between elf lord and mortal maiden. "Especially at such a blessed time as this. I am so pleased that you have come to love one another. "

Her smile trembled as she turned to Andreth now. "I never dreamed that you would find love with an elven lord, but I should have known it would be. Your name, my dearest, has proven itself to be prophetic."

"But unlike her namesake, she will not be bereft." Elros vowed, his voice deep and even. "I have ask her for the honor of becoming her husband, and she has accepted me."

"Then I beg you," Firiel said with a laugh, withdrawing a pace to Thranduil's side, and laying a hand upon the young elf's arm, "please, continue as you were."

Elros nodded his head to Firiel's words, and turned to Andreth now. She lifted her eyes to his, smiling as she felt his fingers brushing her wrist, then slowly, almost shyly, weave through her own slender fingers before lifting her hand.

"Andreth daughter of Beldir," he said, his voice echoing across the square as the silver ring glimmered in the torchlight. "With this ring, I give myself to you as your promised husband, and take you as my promised wife."

Across the square, absolute silence reigned now. Only the faint crackle of torchlight found her ears as Elros slipped the cool metal onto her finger.

Her eyes uplifted to his, to see his gentle eyes and soft smile. "Now it is your turn," he whispered.

Andreth smiled, and opened her fingers curled about the ring she held for him.

"Elros, son of Eärendil," she said, her voice trembling in the stillness. "With this ring, I give myself to you as your promised wife, and take you as my promised husband."

With trembling fingers, Andreth slipped the silver ring onto Elros' lean finger, then drew in a shaking breath, and looked up at him.

A cheer rose up across the square at this, and as she smiled into the eyes of her newly betrothed, she felt his hands cupping her face.

"_Tindómiel_," he murmured, bending over her, and a moment later, his lips touched hers, tentatively, shyly, before drawing back a breath, his eyes seeking hers in the space between them.

He smiled apologetically, "Forgive me for ending our kiss, but-"

"We are being watched _Rau amin_-" she blushed. "I understand."

He nodded. "_Ai, Tindómiel," _he murmured. "One day, I promise you, I will give you a proper kiss, but not here."

"Are you willing, at least, to hold me?" she queried softly, and his gaze soften at this.

"Of course," he breathed, and his arms encircled her, gathering her gently to him, and she sighed, contented against the sturdy warmth of his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his strong body against her own.

Andreth closed her eyes, vaguely conscious of the singing and laughter and music that once again filled the square, aware only of the strength of his body pressed against hers, the gentle motion of his hand running tenderly up and down her spin, and the warmth of longing for him that simmered in her blood.

"Will you become my wife one year from today?" he breathed now against her hair.

"No," she murmured back, lifting a hand to brush against the warm flesh of his throat. Sensing his confusion, she added quickly, "I do not wish to wait a full year."

To this, Elros chuckled softly, a sound which reverberated in his sturdy chest.

"But the customs of my people-"

"Let it be a year from the day of our first meeting, if it must be a year from something."

Gently, Elros' hands cupped her shoulders, and again he stepped back from her, seeking her eyes.

"In nine months? In the spring?"

"Yes, if it cannot be sooner."

Elros smiled into her eyes, cupping her chin with his thumb, his breath sweet against her lips. He turned and looked toward the shipwright, whom they could see was talking with Firiel and Elrond, and a small group of others.

"_Tindómiel," _he breathed, gathering her hand with his own. "Come. Let us go speak to Lord Círdan and Lady Firiel."


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

…oOo…

Behind the merry group climbing the high hill toward Círdan's house, the haven of Mithlond gleamed with lamps, and echoed with singing and laughter.

Andreth, breathless and weary, but nevertheless blissfully happy, walked alongside Maidh, who bore Firiel upon her back. Upon her other side, his fingers woven through her own, strode Elros. His head was partly turned toward Thranduil who walked along his other side, and Andreth took this fleeting chance to turn and study him, her betrothed.

Her betrothed. The joyful weight of the thought settled upon her, like a warm mantle, especially as she studied him. He was beautiful beneath the light of the waning moon on this, the last day of the Harvest Festival. His elven features smooth and flawless beneath the soft blue moonlight.

Then, through a window of Círdan's house, a single light flared. Aelin, and some of the other servants must have reached home already, and were beginning to light the candles and lamps.

Another light sprang up in another window, the welcome yellow light gleaming now off of Elros' face and form, and Andreth smiled.

His dark hair cascaded over his shoulders and down his back like a dark waterfall, parted by his tipped ears. The strong, masculine angles of his face smiled easily at what the golden haired elf had said, and then he turned to her, though at the sight of her face already studying his, Elros's laughter sobered to a smile.

"_Tindómiel," _he murmured, easing closer to her side, and withdrawing his hand from her own, so that he might slip it about her waist. "My fair one. I will miss you."

"And I you, _Rau amin_," she returned. "I wish we did not need to be parted."

Their steps slowed, and their companions pulled ahead, leaving them behind in the shadows. Though neither Elros nor Andreth cared.

"I wish that also. But it is for the best," he said, leaning close and pressing a warm kiss against her brow. "And I think it will be good for me, going to dwell with Firiel for a time, and living the way you lived from your childhood. I think it will teach me much."

Andreth sighed. "You've already learned so much in your life, Elros. You've already been deprived of so much. Kin and comfort and safety. You fought in a bitter, bloody war, and know so much more of so many things than I. I do not see how living in my childhood home will teach you any more than you knew before."

Again he gently kissed her brow. "I trust Círdan's wisdom. I think he is right that it is wisdom that we be parted for a short time. You will stay here and continue your studies, and I will go and dwell with Firiel. Indeed, Andreth, I look forward to dwelling with her, and serving her during the winter months that are coming. She is a goodly lady, and I am honored for this chance to serve her. She will not need to rise in the cold hours of the morning to milk Lavaniel, or to walk so far through the snow to trade and barter, for I will do these things for her. And she will have fresh meat in the winter, for I will hunt for her."

Andreth smiled, though worriedly. "Are you certain you do not have any adverse thoughts about sleeping in the hayloft in Lavaniel's shelter?"

Elros smiled, and chuckled ruefully. "Now, I say that I will be fine. That it will be a grand adventure. Truthfully, I cannot say what I will think in a month's time. Though I do know I will find a way to be content. And you will always be in my thoughts."

"But what about Lang?" she worried. "What if he comes back? What if he finds you?"

Elros sighed. "I think Lang is long departed. I suspect he left Mithlond after coating the swords with venom, and will never come back. For all I know, wherever he is, he does not even know his plan failed. For all I know, he thinks that either I or Hathel is dead, and does not care which of us was slain."

"If he is yet alive, he will learn the truth someday," Andreth said. "For you and Elrond are both well-known."

"Ah, but by then, you and I and all those who will come with us, will have sailed for the blessed land the Valar are making for us." Elros smiled. "Not long after our wedding, we will be beyond his reach."

"I wish everyone was beyond his reach," she lamented softly. "And the reach of others like him."

"As do I," Elros agreed with a sigh. "But we do not have power over all the world. Only our own choices."

He smiled warmly, and tightened his hold upon her. "Do not fear, my sweet _Tindómiel. _Spring will be here before long, and then I will return to you."

"And not long after that, we will be married," she sighed. "I wish the spring were here, now."

Elros pressed more closely to her side, and breathed into her hair, "So do I."

Longing began to simmer within her blood as a coal simmers before the flame flares to life. Demurely, she drew away from his side, though she did let his hand, seeking hers, find it, and weave his fingers through her own.

The rest of the group was well ahead of them now, and in the light of Círdan's house, now glowing like a beacon with lamps and candles in every window, she could see the group filing in, in groups of two or three. Thranduil was helping Firiel from Maidh's saddle, then another elf led the white coated mare away.

But- where was Elrond?

Andreth stopped in her tracks at the sight of Elros' brother walking away from the group, around the side of the house, alone. In the silver light of the moon, his head was bent down as if his thoughts were weighted.

Andreth sighed, for it did not take much thinking to realize what weighted the thoughts of Elrond.

"Look," she murmured, and Elros turned his eyes toward his brother.

Elros made a sound of concerned understanding in his throat. "Yes," he muttered. "Elrond has gone off alone every night since our betrothal was announced. I asked him if I could accompany him, and he said he wished to be alone."

Andreth swallowed stiffly at this revelation. Since Elros' recovery, she had been so elated that he had not died, that his choice for a mortal life had not fully settled upon her heart as it had those first few moments after he had spoken it in the arena.

In the days since, Elrond had not seemed sorrowful; rather he had seemed relieved at his brother's recovery, and had been quick to smile and to laugh, and to join in with the festivities. Only just hours before, she had danced with him, and he had smiled as he spoke of how he looked forward to the next few months, helping her continue her studies, and promising her how she would be pleased by the beauty of Mithlond in the winter. He had not seemed sad. But now as she watched her friend round the corner of the large house toward the path that led down to the shore, she realized how much his brother's choice weighted upon him.

"We should go to him, now," she said. "Speak to him."

Elros looked at her, studied her face a long moment. "He wished to be alone," he protested weakly.

Andreth heaved a soft sigh. "But I must go to him," she said. "I must speak to him. What he feels, what I feel-"

She bit her lip and dropped her eyes. "Not long ago, my dear one, you made a choice. You, who, Elrond and I both hoped, would choose to live forever. Now, you will-" She choked softly. "You will die, someday, my love. He and I once both hoped you wouldn't."

Elros shifted as if he were about to speak, and she stayed him gently with her next words. "I know now, your choice was the right one, and I accept it. As I know Elrond does. But for Elrond," she turned and looked toward the spot where Elrond had disappeared, "while I will ever be at your side, and we will be together always, and any parting between us will be but brief, it is not so with your brother. Elrond knows now, even while you are still near him, that he will lose you one day. And that you will be parted until the world is remade."

Elros did not speak, though his fingers tightened in her own.

"I must go to him," Andreth said. "I must speak to him. At least I must try."

Elros drew in a deep breath and nodded, remaining where he stood as Andreth drew away from him, his fingers sliding from her own as she turned away and started after Elrond.

Elros watched Andreth move away, studied the glint of the moonlight in her hair, the graceful sway of her walk that stirred his blood as he watched her gliding away through the night, glowing beneath the moon like one of the fair tindómiel for which he had named her, like a white sea-bird, those graceful creatures that looked at first to be so frail and delicate, yet were strong and resilient as iron. She was like them, so strong, so wise and brave, and beautiful.

And though Elrond had claimed he wished to be alone on these nightly walks of his, perhaps Elros should join his betrothed as she went to speak to his brother.

Drawing a breath deep into his chest, Elros started after her.

...oOo...

Elrond was glad to be alone, here upon the shore of the sea as he rounded the curve of the bluff and started toward the cave he could see through the moonwashed trees, the whisper of the waterfall reaching his ears. The cave he and Elros had known so well from the time they had been small boys. He need not continue any pretense, now that he was alone.

No, it wasn't pretense, he chided himself, and shook his head. He _was_ happy. For Elros, for Andreth. And his heart accepted, with peace, the choice that Elros had made. It was the right one. A part of him had known it for a long time. Even before Elros had ever set his eyes upon the fair, mortal maiden Andreth. And his brother was still here. He had not withered into a decrepit mortal of ninty years the moment he had spoken his choice. He looked no different than before. The presence of his fëa that Elrond had always sensed, was just as strong as it had always been.

But even so- even so.

The shadows closed over his head, and Elrond sighed. Even so, he knew now, what would happen. Perhaps Elros' life would be extended to a few hundred years, because of the blood of the elder race that flowed in his veins, but inevitably, though the signs were not showing themselves now, Elros would-

A ragged breath escaped him. Elros _would_ die. One day. His fëa would depart the circles of the world, and he would be gone until the world was remade. How would his brother, left alone, endure? Elrond wondered. He had never been without Elros. He could not conceive of a life without him.

"Dear Valar, give me strength," he breathed. "I know his choice was as it should be, and that it was your will. But it is not easy for me to take into my heart. Please give me the wisdom and the understanding that I need."

Behind him, something stirred on the path, and Elrond turned, alarmed at first, though at the sight of Andreth his heart eased, and he managed a smile.

"I am sorry," Andreth murmured, turning her face downward. "I did not mean to interrupt your communion with the Valar."

Elrond smiled gently. "It is alright, little sister."

Andreth lifted her face and smiled tentatively. She _was _beautiful. Elros truly was blessed. And she would make his life so happy, however many years he had left upon this world.

Almost as if she sensed his thoughts, Andreth stepped forward then, and embraced Elrond, her slender arms circling his shoulders, her fair head coming to rest against his shoulder.

"We both love him," she murmured against his shoulder. "Each in our own ways."

"Yes," he agreed, letting his arms encircle her. "And I know his choice was right. I do not mean to be ungrateful."

"But it is not easy, even so."

Elrond smiled a shaky smile, his heart overflowing with gratitude that she understood, and did not judge him harshly. "I always wished I had a sister," he murmured against her hair. "I am grateful the Valar have blessed me with one so fair and wise as you at last. I wish-"

Elrond did not continue his thought. But Andreth spoke, knowing, somehow, the thoughts of his heart. "You wish you did not need to lose me as well."

Elrond closed his eyes and nodded against her hair, feeling the tears spilling out beneath his eyelids. "And my heart hurts," he choked. "My life has been filled with so much loss, and my heart tells me that there will be dear ones not yet born, whom I will love and lose as I will one day lose Elros and you. I do not know how I will bear it all. Perhaps I should have chosen mortality as well. Suddenly facing all the ages of this world without the hope of release seems suddenly so overwhelming a thought."

"Elrond." Though she was smaller than he, looking up at him through the filtered moonlight cast by the wilting leaves of the trees, Andreth suddenly seemed strong, like one of the Queens of the Valar, strong and wise, and beautiful, like his mother had been, and able to save him from all his hurts.

"Yes?" he asked, his voice choking.

"You chose as the Valar wished you. And you will be blessed for it," she whispered. "Mortal or immortal, our bonds of kinship will ever be there. Always; come what may. And when the world is remade, we will be together again, in the bliss beyond bliss. You, Elros and I, your parents, your own bride, your children, our children. All of us. I promise, my brother."

"She is right."

Elrond looked up, seeing now, Elros on the path behind his betrothed. He drew back from Andreth, sniffing as he did, and brushing his hands beneath his eyes.

Elros smiled softly, casting an adoring glance at Andreth before turning his eyes back to Elrond. "Wherever I go, I will be not far from you, Elrond. The Valar are not cruel. They knew, long before we did, the choices we would both make, and they will not part us forever."

"Even so, little brother," Elrond said. "It is not easy."

"I know," Elros said. "It is not easy for me, either."

Elrond choked, "A part of me already misses you."

"And I, you," Elros managed in a broken voice.

And with that, he strode forward, and like his betrothed, threw his arms around his brother. With that, Elrond buried his head against his brother's shoulder, and began to cry.

...oOo..

In the light of the small fire, Elros' eyes looked pensive, and a little sad, and Andreth looked away, dropping her gaze to the fire.

Here in the cave, the waterfall eternally clattering beside her and casting up a chilling mist, the fire was a welcome companion, banishing the chill of the falls' mist and of the deepening autumn night.

Elrond had been with them at first, the three of them talking, and telling stories as the night deepened, and the shadows cast by the full moon had shifted as the moon wended his path across the sky.

Elrond seemed to be at peace now; she hoped he was. And even now, in the silence of her own thoughts, she prayed for him. That he would find the strength and courage to face the future, the joys and the sorrows that his long, unending life would bring him.

At last, though, Elrond had left, silently, leaving the two of them alone in the cave.

She lifted her eyes to the rough ceiling of the cave where the smoke from the fire collected before it spilled out into the air at the mouth of the cave on one side of the falling sheet of water that caught the flicker of the fire and cast it back about the room, flickering random flashes of light and shadow about the chamber of the cave.

A gnarled branch popped and crumpled into the fire, the flame faltered, and Andreth shivered a little.

Wordlessly, Elros reached forward and poked the fire, stirring the flame, before he added another stick.

As he sat back, he shifted his weight so that his shoulder brushed her own.

Even through their clothing, she felt the contact, and her flesh tingled at the touch. She dared not look at him. For they had never been this alone before, excepting in their shared dreams.

"Perhaps we should go back," she murmured at last. "You and Firiel must leave at first light, after all."

"Yes," Elros agreed, shifting his weight, though he made no move to rise, and instead, moved his arm to circle her shoulders, and draw her closer to his side. "We should return soon. It would not do, for me to be falling asleep in the saddle on the way to her home."

He sighed, and drew her more closely to him. "But forgive my weakness that I am not eager to do so," he murmured. "I know I will not see you for some months after I leave you, and I wish this time with you to last."

"As do I," she confessed at last, though her words were spoken with a little shudder.

"Are you afraid?" he asked, his breath brushing against her temple. "Or cold?"

"A little of both," she confessed.

"You needn't be afraid," he said. "I would never dishonor you by wedding you without speaking my vows to you before our kin and friends. My regard for you is far too strong to do such a thing to you."

He shifted closer. "As for the cold," he murmured, "my arms will gladly banish that."

Andreth snuggled closer to him, grateful for his warm, along with that which the fire cast. To this, Elros wrapped both his arms more firmly around her, lacing his fingers across her stomach as his jaw pressed against her hair, and the two gazed silently into the fire.

"I do not fear you, _Rau amin_," she breathed, lifting a hand to touch his jaw as the pair gazed into the fire. "But I wish to keep the simmering coals of our desires banked until our true wedding night."

"As do I," he breathed, though his voice betrayed a hint of reluctance. "And so it shall be. Come."

Again he shifted his weight, and Andreth turned to look as he released her from his arms, rose to his feet, then offered her a hand where she still sat upon the stony floor.

Andreth lifted her hand, slipping it into his, and let him help her rise to her feet.

Yet the betrothed couple did not immediately turn and depart the cave, and Andreth gazed up into the eyes of her dear one, studying the way the firelight danced off of his chiseled features.

He studied her with the same adoration which her own heart felt, and after a moment, his hand lifted, and brushed her cheek. "How was I so blessed," he breathed, "to be entrusted with the heart of the most beautiful of all the daughters of Eru Ilúvatar?"

Andreth blushed at this, and ducked her eyes, but Elros' thumb and fingers touched her chin, insistent, but gentle, as he lifted her face again to look into her eyes.

She lifted her eyes, finding his, his gaze soft and warm in the firelight across the space between them.

"It has occurred to me, my lady," his voice grew warm and thick, "that since my return from the stone quarry, our lips have met- four times. But I have not yet kissed you- properly."

Andreth felt herself softening, and she blinked as she studied the firelight reflected in his sea grey eyes.

Her hand lifted and touched his shoulder, trailing along it to his throat, and touching against the wild throbbing visible beneath the warm flesh. For a moment, she studied the rhythmic pulse.

"Perhaps you should remedy that?" she suggested softly.

"By your leave," he breathed, and dipped his head toward her own. Catching her breath, Andreth let her eyes fall closed, lifting her face to his.

His lips, like the brush of a butterfly's wing, touched hers, his kiss like that of a shy, uncertain youth. The chaste, tender contact sent a wave of tingling warmth through her, before he paused and withdrew, searching her eyes with his own, begging her to let him kiss her again.

"_Rau amin_," she breathed, her own voice grown thicker before Elros dipped his head and claimed her lips once more, his caresses more urgent now, his mouth tasting, exploring her own with tender, restrained passion. Andreth began answering his silent implorations with a warmth all her own, letting her arms slide up his chest and around his broad shoulders, straining to be as near to him as she could. Elros responded in kind and his powerful arms encircled her, pulling her soft body more firmly against his own as their kiss continued, gradually deepening.

Her senses became entangled with his, and Andreth found herself answering the fierce and eager caresses of his warm mouth with her own rising passions. Her fingers gently trailed up his neck her fingers tangling themselves in his hair, an act with seemed to encourage him more.

With a faint moan, she let him tease her lips apart and deepen the kiss, and Elros pulled her body all the more fiercely against his own, hungrily exploring her mouth with a mingling of passion and tenderness that sent a wave of warm weakness pulsing through her blood. Beneath her breasts crushed against the hardness of his chest, Andreth could feel the mingling of their wild throbbing hearts, and her blood grew hotter.

She could sense the bond forged already between their souls, something beautiful, adamant, and unbreakable. And now, with his body pressed against hers, she felt a strange stirring pressing hard against her lower belly that she did not understand, yet which excited her nevertheless, and stirred her own growing need.

Suddenly Elros broke away, almost wildly, his hands finding her shoulders, and he stepped back as if bracing himself from her.

Andreth lifted her eyes to his, to see flames burning brightly in their usually placid, grey depths.

_"Tindómiel," _he growled softly, breathlessly, his voice rough, almost feral; a tone which sent a delicious mingling of fear and excitement racing through her blood. "Forgive me for drawing back so suddenly, but I must." He swallowed hard and smiled ruefully as he stepped back from her. "It is not yet time for your lion to be unleashed."

At these words, Andreth felt herself grow suddenly hot, and a wave of shyness washed over her, dropping her eyes to the stony floor.

"I am determined to wait for you," he vowed, "until the appointed day of our wedding. But on that night," he drew in a deep breath as he murmured, "by your leave, I will make love to you from the setting of the sun unto its rising."

She drew in a deep breath at this, but did not speak.

"Forgive me for my bold words, _Tindómiel,_" Elros breathed.

"Of course, _Rau amin_," she breathed, her words gentle, though her eyes remained on the stony floor. "My feelings are as yours. I see Lord Círdan's wisdom now in having us be parted for a season."

"As do I," he murmured, penitent.

She lifted her eyes, seeking his. She smiled, and Elros returned it, hopeful, boyish, the smile of a youth eager to please.

"Come," she said at last, reaching for his hand which he gave her. "Let's go back to Lord Círdan's house, and our own rooms, you to yours, and I to mine. I will fare you well again, in the morning in the midst of our friends. And every day, I will look forward to the spring, and the coming of the first flowers when you will come back to me."

With that Andreth turned, her hand in his, and the pair walked out of the cave, past the flowing sheet of water, and into the cold air of the night.


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Firiel sat, half drowsing in the comfortable wooden chair that Elros had fashioned for her, listening to the young elf's voice as he sat opposite from her, upon a wooden stool, not nearly as fine as the cushioned high backed chair she sat in, reading to her from an open book which he held in one hand in the dim twilight of the winter evening.

His voice was low, warm and soothing as he recounted the first meeting between Thingol and Melian, and she smiled and closed her eyes as she rocked lazily upon the ingenious legs of the chair, fashioned upon curved runners, that allowed the chair to tip back and forth with very little effort from her own feet. He had presented the gift to her not many hours before, easing her curiosity as to what he had been working on for several days out in Lavaniel's stable with a lamp burning far into the night.

Perhaps he should make a cradle next, she had said, teasing the young dark haired elf. Elros had said nothing to this, but he had smiled at her words.

The sweet, meaty smell of the rabbit he had shot earlier that day filled the air, and soothing her senses even more. His other hand, slowly turning the spit upon which the meat had been strung paused momentarily, as did his musical words, and Firiel opened her eyes.

"Is it ready yet, my lord?" she asked.

"I think it is," he said. "But truly, Firiel, you need not call me _lord_. I am almost a son to you, betrothed as I am, to your charge."

"Indeed you are," Firiel said in return, laughing softly. "But in truth, you are still my elder. I am all of eighty three years. And you are nearly ninety, are you not?"

"Yes," he admitted. "But my begetting day is in the spring. I am still eight-nine."

Firiel smiled, then sighed. "The day of Andreth's birth is also drawing near."

"And she will be twenty," Elros said, his eyes turning to the fire. His voice and eyes grew wistful, and Firiel smiled at the softness upon his face.

Firiel chuckled lightly. "You dear boy," she mused. "I've never seen a man more smitten than you."

Elros smirked and ducked his eyes, his face coloring in the light of the fire. "I have a good reason to be," he murmured. "Andreth is the most beautiful maiden who has ever lived."

"Even more than your ancestress, the famed Lúthien Tinúviel?"

Elros drew a deep breath into his chest and released it slowly. "Yes. And indeed, my fair betrothed is more beautiful than even Elbereth, the Star Kindler herself. Though I pray that the Valar forgive me for saying thus."

Firiel smiled. "I am certain they will understand, and forgive you heartily," she said. Pressing her aging hands against the arms of the chair Elros had made for her, she began to rise to her feet.

Seeing her effort, Elros quickly scrambled up, and offered her his hand, which she took gratefully, thankful for his solid strength as she gained her feet and stretched, feeling the weight of her years as she crossed the room to the shuttered window, and drew the latch aside, opening it to gaze out into the winter night.

Though the sky was overcast, and no light of moon or stars escaped through the blanket of clouds, a soft light still seemed to hover over the snow, cool and blue, and over the trees blanketed in sheets of white.

The chill of the night wafted through the open window, and Firiel shivered, drawing back to close the window.

Elros smiled toward her, carrying the roasted rabbit toward the table upon a wooden platter.

"Are you ready to eat?"

"Elros, what became of that- that man who tried to kill you?"

"Lang?" Elros shrugged, settling at one of the benches at the table. "None know. I'm certain he has gone far from these lands. There are still trackers seeking for any sign of him, and I think they would find him. I do not think he would come anywhere near Mithlond. And now with winter deep on the ground, a lone man in the forest would not fare well without a fire, without supplies. Anyone could see signs of a fire from leagues away, and no one has seen anything. Not even the barest footprint. For all we know, he may be dead, and devoured by wolves."

Firiel sighed as she returned to the table, and sat at the bench that Elros graciously drew out for her.

"But your friend. The one you've spoken of, the son of Fëanor."

"Yes, Maglor."

"He has proven that he can keep himself well hidden for years, unless he wants to be found."

Elros acknowledged this with a nod. "Yes, but remember, Maglor is an elf. He has ways and means that a mortal does not. Truly, madam, I do not think we need to fear Lang."

"Perhaps you're right," she said, and sighed, dropping her fist into her hand. "But even so, I worry for you. We mortals may not be so graceful as you, but do not underestimate us. If he knows how to stay hidden, he will stay hidden."

"Firiel," Elros offered, reaching his hand out, and pressing her hand across the table. "Do not worry. Even in my deepest sleep, I could sense _any_thing crossing the snow between the trees and these buildings. Do not worry about me."

Firiel smiled fleetingly. "But I do, Lord Elros," she said. "Indulge the mother in me, but- your weapons-" She nodded to the bow and quiver of arrows that sat in the corner where he'd set them after he'd returned from his hunt. "At least take them with you tonight when you go to sleep."

Elros drew in a breath. Clearly he did not think such a precaution was necessary. But to her gratitude, the young elf finally nodded, and smiled.

"As you wish," he said. "I'll take them with me."

...oOo...

The cold of the winter night, pinching at him, and biting through his cloak as he made his way through the cold shadows of night was immediately banished by the warmth of the little barn as Elros stepped through, welcomed by the happy bleat of Lavaniel the goat. Raising the lamp he held, he noted the friendly goat rising from where she had lain, snuggled in her corner of the barn, her fluffy tail slapping at the air, almost like a dog's welcome wag. Turning back, he saw Firiel gazing at him through her little wooden window.

He raised his hand, assuring her, and waited until she had shut the window before he pushed the barn door closed, and dropped the latch as she'd wished him to, then turned, and with the lamp in one hand, his bow and quiver hanging from his shoulder, scampered up the ladder to the low ceilinged loft, and the welcome mattress that waited there upon the dusty wooden boards, to one side of the pile of hay that he had shoved aside.

Elros dropped on it gratefully, and lay upon his back for a time before he rolled to his side, and buried his face into the mattress, drinking deeply of the scent there. This mattress had been Andreth's when she had lived here, and the sweet scent of his betrothed still lingered on it.

"Tindómiel," he breathed, drawing in a deep sigh, and turning again to his back, propping his hand beneath his head and lifting his eyes to the ceiling. "How are you, fair one? Are you thinking of me at all?" He drew in a deep breath that swelled in his chest.

"_Valar, watch over her_," he breathed. "_Give her peace and comfort, and remind her of my love for her_."

The quiet peace of his heart lingered for a long moment before a sudden, and inexplicable unease gripped his heart, like something had invaded his senses, intangible, but still real, and he sat up quickly, snatched up his bow from beside him, and made his way to the small hatch upon the wall, unlatched it, and looked out. The light of the small lamp behind him cast a square of light upon the cold snow.

What was that? A shadow, perhaps a bear, perhaps a deer, moved upon the edge of the trees far away, before turning, and lumbering back into the shadows of the icy forest.

Elros shook his head, and closed the small window before returning to his bed and falling again upon it, weary. His brief unease was gone, and sleep beckoned to him irresistibly.

Though his shared dreams with his beloved had not continued once he left Círdan's house, Elros still welcomed the boon of sleep, for though they were not as vivid as they had been before, he could still dream of her, Andreth's face ever before his thoughts. And in his dreams and memory he could relive the last kiss she had granted to him in their cave, the night before he and Firiel had left Círdan's house.

...oOo...

Andreth sighed as she sat at the high window upon the balcony surrounding the main hall of Círdan's house, and gazed out the window, watching the fat flakes of falling snow as they fluttered from the grey sky. The blanket of white spread unbroken before her across the flat plain to the forest where the trees rose stark and shadowed from the blanket of white, their branches cloaked in shrouds of white themselves.

Beneath her fingers, the strings of the harp she held sent forth a fair melody, giving voice to the softness of the falling snow she could see through the window, and the sweet sadness of her own heart.

Where she sat, with the warmth of a fire that roared in a fireplace down in the main hall rising up to where she sat, Andreth was entirely comfortable. But still, she shivered a little as she looked out, turning her gaze toward the north and west where Firiel and Elros were, praying silently in her heart that they too were warm and safe.

"_Dear Valar, watch over him_," she breathed beneath the gentle music her fingers brought forth from the harp. "_Take care of him. I know I do not need to, but still I worry for him_."

"Little sister."

Her music stopped, and she looked up with a smile as Elrond, two cups of steaming liquid in his hands, reached the top of the stairs, and started toward her.

"Here," he offered, holding out one of the cups. "Wassail. You will like it."

"Thank you, brother," she murmured, taking the cup of warmth from him, and lifting it to her nose, drawing in an appreciative breath of the sweet, spicy drink before taking a sip. The sweet warmth filled and warmed her, and she smiled.

"Ah, it is good."

Elrond sat beside her, and now he looked out the window as he drew a sip from his own cup, his gaze looking in the same direction her own had moments before.

"No doubt he is thinking of you as well," Elrond said, turning to her with a half grin. "And praying for you."

Andreth smiled. "I still miss him."

Elrond's smile softened and he reached out, catching her hand, and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I know," he soothed. "But if this is any comfort, the Valar are mindful of you both, and are watching over you always."

She sighed. "That is comforting to hear."

With a deep breath, Elrond rose to his feet. "Well, little sister, I am weary, and will go now to bed." He bent down, and kissed her brow as if she were a child. "Good night."

"Good night, brother," she returned, and he turned and walked away, turning down the hall into his wing of Círdan's house.

In a short while, she would do the same, and go down her own wing to her own room, and the welcome warmth of her bed.

But for now- She turned, and looked out the window again, gazing toward the north, and toward Elros, where he was no doubt falling into sleep.

"Remember I love you," she breathed.

She would sit here, just a few minutes longer, and think of him, and softly play her harp.

…oOo…

A mortal man, seated upon a heavy fur cloak of various animal skins stitched and knotting together, squatted down before the small cluster of glowing rocks in the deep cave where he had lived and slept for some days, a gnarled stick strung with bits of rat meat toasting slowly over the coals that glowed before him.

He did not like the taste of rat, but it was what he could find without going far from this cave he had found in a low hillside where he stayed now, biding his time, and nursing his anger.

He scowled as he tested the toasting meat, and took an experimental nibble. He could have gotten some mutton earlier when he had ventured near that tiny farm, for he had heard a goat's bleating, and thought he could snatch it away. But then the upper window of the barn had opened, and of all the cursed fools in the world, that _elf_, that wretched fool Elros, a bow in his hand no less, stuck his head out.

A soft snarl escaped Lang's lips. If he'd had a bow himself, he would have shot the wretch. But he didn't. He would have to bide his time.

Slowly, a cold, humorless smile came to his face. He could wait. Make his plans, and patiently wait.

Lifting his stick strung with rat meat from the glowing coals, Lang tore off a smoking piece, and began to chew, his thoughts roiling, and boiling in his mind.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

The fire in Firiel's hearth crackled merrily, while beyond the walls a cold wind shrieked and howled, as if angry that it could not gain admittance into the warm haven of her house. There was a note on the wind, a foul, sour note, at which a twinge of unease, deep within the recesses of his mind pricked at Elros. But he and Firiel were safe in here; Lavaniel the goat was safely put away in the barn, and his attention was fixed upon the work in his hands. All thoughts but pleasant ones were pushed far away into the shadows of his mind.

A pot murmured upon the fire, exuding warm and promising smells; rabbit stew with slices of potato, carrot, and onion. And a tray sat upon the table, boasting a fine, white goat's milk cheese while beside it, waited a pot of berry jam. And the neighbors were coming, Firiel had promised, bringing bread that would still be warm from the oven. Baran, and Lómë his goodwife, and their children, to celebrate Yule with Firiel and her elven guest. Elros had already met them, and liked the jovial man and his sweet-faced wife, Firiel's nearest neighbors. Their eldest, Lune, was a lad of fourteen, and Elros' gift to him, a carven bow with a handful of arrows in a leather quiver, lay newly strung at one end of the table. Beside it lay his gifts for the other children, a wooden top and a carven horse, for the two younger sons, Arik and Gereth, and a little wooden doll with moveable limbs, for the littlest, Dove, a sweet girl of five years. The little doll was clothed in a dress of Firiel's make, its creator seated a space away from Elros in the rocking chair he had made for her, stitching at a small mound of white cloth in her lap. Her gifts for their visiting guests were finished, carefully made tunics and aprons, and arrayed upon the table with his. He wondered what the mound of cloth was that she worked on now, though it looked suspiciously like a baby's sleeping gown. And Baran's wife was not expecting. Elros smiled where he sat at the table's bench, a short, sharp knife in his hand as he carved at his own slowly forming creation. A little cradle.

Elros was focused upon the little headboard now; a curving, intricate design of vines and leaves that arced over the head-board and down each side of the little wooden box, curving down each of the four corners, and curling into in the delicately curved runners that would help the little cradle rock gently and safely like Firiel's chair did.

His work was still unfinished; the little bed was still rough and unpolished, and more carving was to be done. But Elros smiled as he studied the little box cradle he was carving from a single block of wood, and pictured Andreth's face, imagining the look of pleasure he would see in her eyes when he showed it to her in the spring. The cradle that would hold and protect their little ones that would come of their love, of the bonding of their bodies that would one day be the beautiful fulfillment of the bond they already felt between their souls. Even now, he felt the tug of her spirit upon his heart, no less potent despite the distance between them.

Elros had not realized he had sighed out loud, until Firiel chuckled beside the fireplace, and he looked up.

Firiel's eyes twinkled as their gazes met. She shook her head. "You poor boy," she teased. "It is but mid winter. You and Andreth have some months to go, yet."

Elros blushed, and dropped his eyes. "I know," he agreed. "I'm sorry madam. I will strive to be easier to live with."

Firiel's smile softened a little. "Elros?"

He looked up.

"You do truly love her, do you not?"

He nodded. "With all my heart."

Firiel heaved a breath, her eyes now earnest. "Why?"

The single worded question was, upon the surface, a fairly simple one. But as he studied her eyes, he knew that truly, it was not so.

"You ask this," he surmised, "because you want to be reassured that I love her for more than her beauty."

Firiel smiled a quavering, apologetic smile. "You indulge me much, dear Elros," she said. "In my heart I am certain that you do love her, truly. But as one who loves her as a mother, I still wish to hear your words."

Drawing in a breath, Elros set the cradled down, leaving his knife upon the table beside the unfinished cradle, and turned toward Firiel, leaning forward and resting his elbows upon his knees as he faced her.

"I will be truthful, madam, when I tell you that one of the first things I noticed about your fair charge, was indeed her beauty. Her eyes are fairer than gems, and her hair is like a cascade of gold and bronze when it catches in the light. And the beauty of her form is truly captivating."

Elros dropped his eyes again, feeling his face grow warm. "Andreth is marvelous to look upon. She has a grace about her, whether she is still, or whether she is moving. And I confess, all that is in me that makes me a man stirs when I look at her. I desire her, Firiel. I will not deny that."

Firiel waited, her eyes expectant.

He drew in another deep breath, and straightened. "But that is not the only reason why I love her, for her soul is good and kind, and makes her outward beauty shine all the more. Were she not thus, I could not love her, no matter how beautiful she was."

"And would you love her still, were she not whole, and untouched?"

Elros' brows furrowed slightly, and studied her eyes for a long moment, wondering what she was asking.

Slowly, he drew in a breath. "You wonder if my feelings would be different," he said slowly, reading the old woman's silent eyes, "if by some mischance Elrond and I had been later than we were, and Lhûg had succeeded in- in robbing her of her maidenhood before we arrived."

"Yes," Firiel said softly. "I wish very much to know that. And what if she had lost her hand, that day when the knife with the poison on it slipped, but there had not been medicine nearby to save her limb from being destroyed by the poison? Would you love her still?"

Slowly, Elros straightened, and gazed long into Firiel's eyes. "I have always known by looking into her eyes the answer to this question, but I will ask you nevertheless. Has Andreth ever given herself to any man of her own will?"

"No." Firiel's answer was soft, but emphatic.

Elros nodded his head. "And so it would be, even if Lang's cousin had accomplished his vile desire. The fault would be his, not hers, and my love would not be less for what _he_ did."

A look of deep and warm gratitude softened Firiel's face as Elros continued, "And had she lost her hand, I promise you, such a thing would not mar her beautiful soul, good and honorable as it is. And my heart would still cleave to hers with no less the strength that it does now."

Firiel drew in a ragged breath at these words, and Elros smiled. He rose to his feet, and crossed the room to her, kneeling down in front of her, and gathering up her gnarled hands within his own.

"Madam, Firiel," he said. "I will be forever glad that these wretched things did not happen to Andreth, she whom we both love. I am glad that she is yet untouched. I am glad that her form is whole and unmarred. But I promise you, my love would not be less, otherwise. For her soul is noble, flawless and whole, and its purity is brighter than the sun." His smile faltered a little. "I can only hope that I am worthy of her, as bright and beautiful as she is."

At this, tears started in Firiel's eyes and she squeezed his hands. "Oh, my dear boy," she choked softly. "My dear, wonderful Elros. I promise you, you are."

Elros smiled, and rose to his feet, gently squeezing her hand before he released them, and turned back toward the table and his work.

A knock at the door however, quickly turned his feet in that direction.

"Ah, that will be Baran, and his good family," Firiel said as he moved across the floor, lifted the latch, and drew it open.

Elros' mouth dropped open in pleased surprise at the figures shivering upon the stoop, and smiling in greeting.

"Happy Yule," Círdan murmured, his eyes dancing, his arms loaded with a bundle of firewood, and a leather pack over one shoulder. The elf's silver beard and hair glistened with ice crystals, his hair cascading over a thick winter cloak. Behind the elf, Baran, Firiel's tall mortal neighbor with dark hair and beard stood beside his wife, Lómë, and their children gathered about them, baskets and bundles weighting their arms. Their eldest son, Lune, grinned, looking at his smaller brothers and sister as if with a shared secret, though he said nothing.

After a moment, the bearded elf chuckled. "May we come in?"

"Of course," Firiel laughed from behind them. "Come in, my lord! What a welcome surprise. Make yourself easy, and you as well, Baran, Lómë, and all!"

The group chuckled merrily as Elros stood aside, permitting them to enter, kicking snow off their feet as they came.

"My lord, I had not expected to see you until spring," Elros said, as the elf crossed to the hearth, and dropped his load of firewood into the nearly empty cradle. He moved toward the table, and set the leather pack beside Elros' cradle.

"Indeed," Círdan said again, and stepped forward to slap a hand upon Elros' shoulder in greeting. "So I saw, by your befuddled expression when you opened the door."

The silver-haired shipwright smiled, glancing toward the smaller mortal children who squeeled at the discovery of their presents and rushed for the table, dropping furs and wraps as they scrambled for the toys Elros had made. "But I wanted to wish a Happy Yule to you, and to good Firiel as well."

"But-" Elros' smile faltered. He did not wish to feel disappointment on such a blessed and happy day, but even so- "My lord, did Andreth not also come with-"

"Lord Elros!" the youth Lune said, his voice filled with wonder, and Elros turned as the youth held out the bow Elros had made, his eyes bright with gratitude. "Thank you, sir. It is very fine."

Arik and Gereth had dropped to the floor with their toys, playing beside the table.

Elros smiled and nodded. "You are most welcome, Master Lune."

"Perhaps you will take me to practice with it, later?" Lune asked.

"If you wish, and if your parents approve," Elros promised.

Lune glanced toward his mother who had moved to the side board with Firiel, the two women unloading dishes of warm, delicious smelling food from the basket Lómë had brought, then toward his father who was unrolling a fine, thick bearskin rug upon the floor before Firiel's new rocking chair.

"My lord," Elros asked again, turning toward Círdan. The bearded elf smiled. "Did Andreth send no message, or-"

"Master Elros?" a small hand tugged at the hem of his tunic, and he looked down into Dove's wide eyes as she hugged her begowned doll close to her.

"What is it, little one?" he asked, grinning as he squatting down level with the child.

Dove dropped her eyes shyly, and he grinned, reaching out a gentle hand to brush the child's cheek. "Ah, no need to be shy, little one."

The little girl lifted her eyes once more. "Are you going to marry our Andreth?"

"I certainly shall," he said.

Dove ducked her eyes again. "Andreth is lucky." A blush colored her baby soft cheeks and she hugged her new doll close, half hiding her face. "You're very handsome."

Chuckles echoed around the room, which Elros echoed. "Thank you," he said. "You are, yourself, very pretty."

"Is that other handsome man with the pointed ears your brother?" Dove asked again. "The one who joined us on our way? He gave me a ride upon his horse."

"Lord Círdan?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at Círdan who stood now at the hearth, looking on, with twinkling eyes. "No, but he is like a father-"

"No," Dove cut in. "I mean the one who looks like you. The one with dark hair, like you, who is in the barn with Andreth now, putting the horses-"

"Dove!" her mother cried, her voice betraying her good humored shock. But the secret was already out, and Elros thrust to his feet.

"Andreth is here?" he demanded, looking now toward Círdan, now toward Baran, now his wife. "Here? Now?" None spoke, though the pursed lips and laughing eyes of Lómë gave away their secret.

Without any further hesitation, Elros turned and darted out the door, Círdan's good-natured laugh following behind him as he sprinted around the corner of the house, and toward the animal shelter, where he could see the door standing open, and the tell tale signs of the hooves of three horses crossing the snow toward it.

...oOo...

Despite her furs and fine gown beneath, Andreth knelt down upon the floor of Firiel's barn, and threw her arms about Lavaniel's neck, burying her face into the goat's coarse, musty smelling coat.

"Oh, I've missed you, dear Lavaniel," she breathed, relishing the goat's good natured bleat of welcome, and the nudge against her neck. She looked up at Elrond who turned from the manger where he had dropped an armful of hay, patting Maidh's cream colored neck. The walls of the barn echoed with the contented munching of the three horses.

"She's missed you just as much, it seems," Elrond chuckled.

"Not as much as I have," a breathless voice, warm and welcome sounded in the doorway.

Andreth scrambled to her feet, turning toward the tall, solid shadow that now stood, blocking the brightness from the snow.

"Elros," she gasped, and rushed forward, finding herself, in a moment, engulfed in his strong arms. She buried her face against his neck, and drank in the warm, musky scent of him, trembling as she felt his arms slip beneath the heavy fur cloak she wore, and find her waist, easing her body against his own. "_Rau amin_," she breathed against his neck, her voice soft so that he alone could hear.

Elros hands, against her hips, tightened their grip slightly, letting her know he had heard, before he whispered in return, "Tindómiel, I have missed you." He pushed her back, smiling down into her eyes. "Seeing you again, is like a drink of water after days of thirst."

"It is the same for me," Andreth murmured in return.

With a smile, Elros bent his head, intending to kiss her, when a coppery equine nose thrust between them, sniffing in welcome as Nórui impatiently butted Elros' chest.

"Ah, Nórui!" Elros laughed, and Andreth and Elrond joined him as he embraced the horse's thick neck as Andreth had, her goat. "Do not worry boy! I have not forgotten you."

"What about me, little brother?" Elrond queried, and Elros turned toward his brother, a penitent grin upon his face.

"Nor you, Elrond," he said, striding foward. The two elven men threw their arms about each other, clapping each other upon the shoulder. "Never you."

The elven brothers parted, and Andreth smiled, ducking her eyes. The eyes of both men gleamed with wetness.

"I've missed you, Elros."

"And I, you, Elrond."

"We should go to the house," Andreth offered as the two men both turned to her. "If I know young Lune, he'll eat up the entire Yule feast if he's allowed."

The two men nodded, and with a final pat to Nórui's neck, Elros urged the stallion back to the feeding trough. Obediently, he went. Lavaniel, her hooves clattering, moved toward the trough as well, and Nórui and Celegben moved agreeably to let the goat stand between them.

Needing no more urging, Elros moved to Andreth's side, and slipped his hand into hers, guiding her out the door into the snow, and the gentle cold of the winter evening. Stars were beginning to twinkle overhead.

Further out into the trampled snow they went, and as Elrond turned to shut and bolt the door behind them, Elros turned toward Andreth with a mischevious gleam in his eye, and bent, as his arm, strong and firm, pulled her swiftly against his solid strength, and stole a fleeting, heated kiss, pressing his warm lips fervently against her own before withdrawing, and meeting her eyes with a rougish grin as his brother turned back and joined them.

Andreth smiled as Elrond rolled his eyes, letting the pair know he was fully aware of their mischief. But he only grinned and said nothing.

Clapping a hand upon Elros' shoulder, Elrond tramped upon Elros' left side as Andreth huddled against his right, the three of them breathing out clouds of steam as they marched through the snow toward Firiel's house where a song of merriment was already rising up, escaping the door and the windows, and reaching out to them with a welcoming hand, bidding them to join the warmth and the light.

...oOo...

Far in the darkness of the forest, a figured trudged along, wrapped in a ragged fur cloak, his eyes casting now and then toward the light he could see through the trees, though he dared not go nearer.

Yule. Lang swallowed bitterly. What was Yule, but a time to remember what he did not have? No friends, no kin. Only bitterness and anger. Nothing but hate to drive him, to give him purpose. And that elf, that cursed, wretched elf had everything.

With a bitter growl, Lang jerked away from the light, and the music he could hear now, wafting through the trees from the distance. One day, one day soon, that elf would lose everything dear to him. Lang would see to that. He slapped the body of the rat he had caught for his evening meal against his thigh, and turned away.

...oOo...

The fire in the hearth burned low. Beyond Firiel's shuttered window, the full moon had risen, casting a silver cloak across the snow. Within Firiel's house, the small chamber was comfortable and warm, and in a shadowed corner, Baran's three youngest children dozed upon Andreth's bed. Lune sat upon a wooden stool beside the new bearskin rug his father had brought for Firiel. Firiel sat in the wooden chair with the runners that allowed it to rock gently, while Baran's wife at at her feet, the two of them visiting softly in voices Andreth could not hear from where she sat upon the wooden bench at the table.

Her stomach was comfortably full, as was her heart, as she and gazed as Elros where he stood with the other men beside the hearth, sipping at mugs of warm mead.

"Oropher and Thranduil have gone then?" Elros asked.

"And their people," Elrond said. "They started eastward not long ago. I would have written, but as we were coming to see you, I thought it best to tell you in person."

"They mean to establish a silvan realm of their own," Círdan said. "I do not doubt but that they will do wonderfully well."

"Thranduil said to bid you farewell, Elros," Elrond said.

Elros nodded soberly, and drew a thoughtful sip. "I'll miss him," he said.

The other elven men nodded.

"Great things are yet to come of Oropher's son," Círdan said softly. "And of his seed, I'll wager."

She turned her head to the side, noting the small carved cradle in the shadows, and remembered that she had yet to give her beloved her own Yule gift.

"Elros," she called, and he turned his head, the soft murmur in the room stilling.

"Yes?" he asked.

"I have yet to give you my gift," she said, and rose, moving to the pack that Cirdan had set down for her.

"That you are here is enough," he assured her, though he drew nearer, curious, a smile coming to his face as she withdrew a wrapped package, folded in cloth, and tied with a string. And then she withdrew a harp.

"This is for you," she breathed, offering the package to him.

"Thank you," he said, accepting it into his hands. He sighed. "I am sorry that my gift for you is unfinished," he said. "I had not known-,"

"Do not worry," she said with a smile. "Your greatest gift to me is simply being here."

Elros dropped his eyes to the package, and loosed the string, letting the cloth fall away from the folds of a fine, warm cloak.

"You made this yourself?" Elros asked, running his hands over the fabric, his eyes shining.

"I did," Andreth said, her body warming with pleasure.

"Though I would prefer your presence, I will be happy wearing this, knowing this was made by your hands."

"My gifts to you are not done, though," Andreth continued, smiling as Elros' brows twitched in curiosity, his eyes falling to the harp she held in her hands.

"I promised I would play it for you, one day," she murmured.

Stillness filled the room. Lune shifted upon the stool where he sat, and rose to his feet to move to his father's side, and Baran clapped a hand upon the boy's shoulder, but no others moved as Andreth set her fingers to the strings and closed her eyes, beginning to play a song Maglor had taught her, a soft sweet, wordless song of light, and of hope, and of good and blessed things to come. Her fingers moved over the strings as the song came forth, and for a moment, she fancied that the song itself caused the movement of her fingers, rather than her fingers drawing forth the music that filled the reverent stillness of the room for many long, and peaceful moments before they came at last, to an end, the last note quavering away and fading into sweet memory as she opened her eyes and looked up into the adoring face of her betrothed.

"That was wonderful," Elros said in the stillness. "I have wished to hear you play, since first I knew you had learned."

"Thank you," she murmured.

Elros nodded his welcome, then with eyes that had grown as shy as a youth's, he stepped forward, offered his hand, and asked, "Will you go out with me, for a short time, into the night?"

"Yes," she returned, placing her hand in his.

For a moment, Lómë shifted where she sat, and shot a brief look at Círdan. But the silver haired elf merely smiled and shook his head as Andreth rose to her feet.

...oOo...

The moon was high overhead, their mingled breaths steaming in the air between them, as Andreth and Elros, their arms about each other, stood together at the edge of the forest. Up the slight slope of the hill, Firiel's house was bright beyond the shutters, singing reaching them across the clear and silent snow. They would return soon enough, and Elros would depart with Baran's family to spend the night at their holdings while Círdan and Elrond would sleep in the loft above the animals where Elros usually slept. For now, though, she had him all to herself.

Andreth strained closer to his side, grateful for his warmth and his strength that banished the cold that held the world all about them in frozen, silver sleep.

The trees at the edge of the forest, barren of leaves, gleamed white in the night, while deeper into the forest, they stood like dark, sober pillars upholding a roof of entwined carven stone. Like a dwarves' cavern, she had often imagined.

"The cradle you are making, is beautiful," she murmured at last.

She heard him draw in an appreciative breath, and sensed his smile. "I had meant it as a gift nearer to our wedding day. It is as yet unfinished. But I am glad you like it. I am sorry I did not have a Yule gift for you. I did not think I would see you again until the spring."

"You are gift enough, Elros," she assured him.

"Yours was wonderful," he murmured.

She smiled, and teasingly drew back from him a pace. Grinning he followed her, before he lifted his head, and looked around.

"This place seems somewhat familiar," he said in faint wonderment.

"Perhaps because we are near the waterfall and pool where I wash the clothes in the spring and summer." Andreth said, nodding into the darkness of the trees. "Through there, is the stream which leads to the falls, frozen now."

"The pool where I found you, inadvertently, when I returned to give you the basket you'd dropped," Elros said, his breath warm against her forehead.

"Yes," she said. Andreth did not look up at her betrothed, too shy, for the moment to do so. "The day after-" She faltered.

"The day after we first met," he offered.

"Yes," she breathed softly, her eyes dropping to her feet.

Silence, soft and companionable, filled the warm space between them until she spoke again.

"Thank you, _Rau amin_, for saving me that day. For saving my- virtue."

"You are more than welcome, my love," he returned, and she drew in a ragged breath, closing her eyes as she felt the press of his lips against her brow.

"I have very little, in the way of worldly goods to give you as a dowry," she said, still to the ground. "All that I have, has been gifted to me, from Firiel, or from Lord Círdan. But I still have my maidenhood. My one treasure that is wholy mine." Her voice grew as soft as the wind. "That will be my gift to you, on our wedding night."

To this, Elros sighed, and turned fully toward her, touching her chin, and lifting her face so that her eyes rose to his own. Grey as the sea, and filled with warmth, wisdom, and compassion.

And though Andreth did not have the strong memory of the elves, she knew, as she gazed up at him, his tipped ears framed by his dark hair falling about the heavy cloak he wore, the hood of it thrown back, and his eyes bright with the light of the moon, that this image of him would remain with her for all her days, until her dying breath.

"Tindómiel," he murmured, and bent his head, placing a soft, chaste kiss to her lips before drawing back. "It is a gift that I will accept with the reverence that such a treasure deserves." He smiled softly. "I too, hope you accept and treasure the gift of my virtue, as well. I have never given myself to any woman. And I desire none but you."

She smiled up at him, her heart warming at his words. She had always known that such was true, but it was wonderful to hear.

She took a slight step back, finding the trunk of a tree arresting her steps. But to this, she only smiled as Elros pressed near, his arms sliding beneath her cloak to her hips, as her own found his arms beneath the weight of his cloak, trailing up to his shoulders, her fingers tracing over the taut lines of his muscles as they went. Elros bent his head again, and this time, his kiss was stronger, and more heated, his body pressing against her own. She found herself drowning in him, returning his caresses with equal fervor.

"_Tindómiel_," he breathed as he drew back for a fleeting moment, his breath mingling with hers in the fraction of space between their lips, "_you will make a wonderful queen_," before claiming her lips once more. Beneath her cloak, his hands stroked up and down her sides, sending trails of warmth flowing through her body.

"_And you will make a wonderful king_," she returned, drawing her lips away from his to catch her breath, and gather her wits.

"_Tindómiel-_"

"_Winter will not last forever_," she whispered. Swallowing, she gently pressed her hands against his chest and pushed him away. She lifted her eyes, offering him a breathless smile.

He returned her smile, before his expression fell as the twang and zip of an arrow released from the string sang off into the forest, not far away.

Alarmed, the couple turned to see the boy Lune, trotting near, hefting the bow Elros had made for him, the new quiver strung over his shoulder.

"Forgive me, Lord Elros, Andreth," the boy called. "Lord Círdan sent me to fetch you back. I was coming, when I saw a shadow of some creature in the wood. A bear perhaps, though I cannot say, for the shadows were deep. It must not have been aware of you, for it was moving toward you, and you-, er, distracted as you were-"

The youth paused and blushed.

Andreth felt a heated blush coming to her own face. Distracted as she indeed had been by Elros' attentions, a hive of bees could be swarming around them, and she'd barely notice. Elros seemed to have the same thought, for he shot her an apologetic grin.

The boy cleared his throat, and continued. "I shot a warning arrow at it. I did not wish to hurt it, if I could help it. But the warning worked. It turned, and ran away into the deeper shadows."

"Good man, Master Lune," Elros said, one hand finding Andreth's as he stepped forward to clap a hand on the youth's shoulder. "For the warning shot, and for being a mindful chaperone. Come, let us return. I have kept you and your kin long enough."

Andreth smiled, squeezing Elros' hand as they returned to Firiel's house. He did not speak, but Elros smiled as they went, and gently returned her squeeze.


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

From his comfortable perch high in the thick branches of the evergreen, Maglor watched Elros where the young elf sat upon a stone beside a frozen sylvan pond, his breath rising above him in a cloud of steam. Upon one side of the pool, a rise of stone lay coated in a sheet of frozen water. In the spring and summer, it would be a clattering waterfall, but it lay still and silent, now.

Elros's head was bent over a letter; just come from Andreth, Maglor guessed, from the way the young elf devoured the words. Often Elros rode his horse here, a copper coated stallion, Nórui, accompanied by the little goat, Lavaniel, who did not seem to like being parted from her new four legged companion, following the stallion everywhere she could, like a loyal hound. But today, Elros came alone.

Elros came to this little glade often, despite the cold, accompanied sometimes by the two beasts who had seemed to have adopted each other, but sometimes alone. It held special meaning to him, Maglor realized, likely reminding him of his fair betrothed whom he had not seen since Yule, nearly two months gone, now. Perhaps they had shared a special moment here. The thought brought a smile to Maglor's lips.

A smile drew up the corners of Elros' lips as well as he read the letter, his expression a mingling of gladness and loneliness. Maglor could only imagine the gentle words of love and comfort Andreth had written upon the letter, assurances that spring would come one day, and they would be together again, never to be parted.

Maglor swallowed stiffly, his thoughts inadvertently turning to one whose face ever lived in his thoughts, always there, even when he was not consciously thinking of her. Closing his eyes, Maglor leaned his head back against the warm, welcoming bark of the tree, and murmured her named. _Anoriel_.

She dwelt in the west, in the Blessed Land he would never see again, not while the earth endured, at least. Did she know what he had done in his pursuit of his father's jewels? Did she love him still, despite it? She had loved him once.

If he searched deeply, he could feel in the depths of his heart, his lingering bond to her. He could hear again, in his mind, the sweetness of her voice, her song that he had woven into his own music, and had taught to Andreth, the maiden elven fair, though she was a mortal, who could have been his own daughter, had he and Anoriel been blessed with a child.

Releasing a ragged sigh, Maglor opened his eyes, only to narrow them a moment later.

What was that? That shadow, moving through the thicker undergrowth, about an arrow's cast from where Elros sat, engrossed in his letter from Andreth. An animal of some sort- but no. Despite the unclear form of whatever creature it was, Maglor sensed intelligent intent. Whatever it was, it knew what it was doing. That was no bear, nor any other mere beast.

As the shadowed figure took another creeping step toward the young elf, a sense of alarm rose up in Maglor's heart, and he scrambled to his feet, grasping the branch above him for support. Casting back his bear skin cloak so that he could move more swiftly, he set his teeth against the cold, and leapt from the branch, catching hold of another branch, and darting from branch to branch dropping steadily toward the ground, and toward the formless shadow, he now knew meant harm to his little boy.

...oOo...

Lang sneered darkly as he studied the elf from where he knelt upon the cold and frozen ground. All alone here, weaponless, and absorbed in whatever was on theo parchment in his hand. Even with his elven senses, Elros had not sensed his enemy nearing. Lang smiled and clenched his stone knife more tightly.

Faster than he could comprehend it, something dropped from the trees to the snow in front of him, and in a moment, fingers circled around his throat, lifting him up in the air, and slamming him against the tree at his back, so that his head cracked, his vision spinning.

"_You're the one they've been looking for_," a furious voice spat.

Lang blinked, focusing his eyes upon a dark-haired elf whose eyes burned with fury.

"_You're Lang_," the elf seethed between his teeth. "_The one who tried to poison my little boy_. _You're still trying to hurt him_."

Terror seized Lang, and he tried to struggle, slashed his stone knife clumsily at his foe, though the elf's hand only squeezed harder about his throat, cracking him again against the tree.

The elf's hand jerked away the stone knife Lang had meant to kill Elros with. His lips drawing back from his teeth, the elf drew the blade back in his fist, the pointed tip trained upon Lang's face.

Lang squeaked, and closed his eyes, helpless to do anything else. A moment later, with a force that cause the entire tree at his back to vibrate, the stone blade slammed into the wood an inch from his head.

Trembling, Lang opened his eyes to look at the knife, his eyes widening as he noted nothing but the bump at the end of the pommel visible. In the elf's fury, he had plunged the entire weapon into the tree's core.

"_I have made an oath to myself and to the All Father that I would never kill another of his children again. And though you barely deserve the distinction, you are still one of His sons, so I will not kill you_."

At that, the dark-haired elf drew him back from the tree and tossed Lang, as easily as if he were a tree branch, several lengths through the air. Lang landed in the snow with a rough thud, and looked up to see the elf watching him, fury still in his eyes.

"_Go,"_ the elf ordered. "_Far away. Never return. If you do, if you try to hurt my boy, if you try to hurt his bride, if you try to hurt any child of the All Father again, the wrath of the Valar will find you. That I promise_."

Snarling, Lang scrambled to his feet. The elf was unarmed he could- But then he looked at the tree, at the knife embedded its full length into the trunk. He swallowed hard, turned, and ran, stopping once to look back at the elf who still stood, watching him go. Lang snarled, spat hard onto the snow, then turned, and ran on into the deeper shadows of the trees.

...oOo...

"Elros!"

The voice of Firiel carrying through the woods lifted his eyes from the parchment before him, and he looked in the direction her call had come from. Her voice sounded a little worried. Had she been calling him for some time? Perhaps. He had been so absorbed in Andreth's fair words, that little could have penetrated his senses, except perhaps, for Andreth's own fair voice.

"I am here, Madam Firiel!" he called. "Near the washing pool!"

A moment later, the clopping of hooves upon snow sounded through the trees, and she appeared, holding onto Nórui's halter, with Lavaniel ever at the stallion's heels like a loyal dog.

Elros grinned at the sight of the little goat. For the last several weeks since Nórui's coming, Lavaniel had seemed to have adopted the stallion, and Nórui her in return. In truth, the goat and horse, unlikely pair that they were, were loth to go anywhere alone, now, always together it seemed, Lavaniel bumping against Nórui's legs, eager to share whatever stiff grass the stallion managed to paw to through the snow.

"The sun has set, Elros. It will begin to grow colder, and supper is near ready," said Firiel, a little breathless from her journey through the snow.

"Forgive me," he said, scrambling to his feet. He lifted the light colored parchment in explanation. "I was lost in Andreth's letter."

Firiel smiled her forgiveness at this, and shook her head. "Ah, well. There is no need to apologize, then."

Elros came forward as she held out an arm to him, and let her slip her gnarled hand through the crook of his elbow.

"She is well?" she asked as they started back through the trees, Nórui at Firiel's side, with Lavaniel clopping beside the horse.

"Yes," Elros said. "She continues her studies. She says Hathel has resumed instructing her in weapons-"

His voice faded away, and he felt Firiel's eyes upon him out of the corner of his eye.

Elros swallowed. He had confided Firiel his once rivalry with Hathel for Andreth's affections, and guessed at what she was thinking before she spoke.

"You needn't fear that she will forget you before spring," Firiel said. "Her heart is yours. Forever. You know that, I hope."

Elros heaved a sigh, and nodded. "I know," he said with a grin, turning to smile upon the older mortal woman. It was difficult to think of her as younger than himself in years; Firiel seemed so wise and patient, traits he had yet to perfect. He smiled. "But it is comforting to hear it. I miss her terribly."

"And she misses you, my dear boy," Firiel said, giving his arm a squeeze. "As much as you miss her."

She touched a hand to the embroidered cloak he wore. "You are enjoying her Yule gift?"

Elros nodded and managed a smile, rolling his shoulders beneath the weight of the warm cloth.

"It is marvelously warm," he said, noting Firiel's smile at the tenderness in his tones. "Not as comforting as having Andreth herself beside me, but it is good, having something made by her own hands to warm me."

He glanced beside him. "I hope she will be pleased by the rabbit fur mittens we are making for her birthing day."

"No doubt she will be," Firiel assured him, squeezing his arm.

"I only wish I could see her face when she receives them," he said softly.

"Spring will come, my boy," Firiel sighed. "As will your begetting day. And then your wedding."

About them, the trees broke, and her house came into view.

Without the trees to protect them, a chill wind brushed their faces. Elros caught the embroidered edges of her cloak, pulling them closed, so that the warmth of Andreth's gift would not escape.

"Sometimes it seems as if it is an eternity away," he murmured as they tramped across the crisp snow that crackled beneath their boots.

"I know," Firiel said gently. "I, too, was young once, and Hamar was, also."

Elros smiled at the wistfulness of her tone. She had spoken of her husband before. "It would have been an honor to have met him," he said.

Firiel squeezed his arm. "He would have approved of you, Elros."

Elros grinned at the compliment. Then he drew his arm from hers, and slipped it around her shoulders.

...oOo...

The shadows of the winter evening were turning into night. Elros sat upon his stool near the hearth, stirring the soup that he and Firiel were soon to eat for their evening meal. Firiel smiled where she stood at the table, kneading a lump of bread dough as she studied the face of the youthful elf. And elf he was, though she knew he had chosen a mortal life, for his appearance was still that of one of the elder race, and while nearly ninety years had passed since his begetting, he still looked as one who could have been her own son; grandson even. She knew he had more wisdom than she, and had seen more of the evil of Morgoth and his minions in his life than she wished even to imagine. But still, he was just a boy, as playful and prone to merriment as any mortal youth. As in need of counsel and advice. Firiel smiled. And as deeply in love with her dear Andreth as she could ever have wished any honorable young man to be.

Never in all of Andreth's girlhood and youth, had Firiel ever imagined, despite the prophetic name her mother had given her, that one of the elder race would give her his heart. Firiel smiled and turned the ball of dough, sprinkling a handful of flour over it as she continued her work. The heart of an elf, so Firiel had always understood, was not something that was given easily or impretuously. An elf, at least an honorable one, as she knew Elros to be, when he loved, loved truly and always for more than mere beauty. And once the heart of an elf was given, especially if his love were returned, little if anything in the world, could make his love fade. And for this, Firiel's heart was glad. For she had often feared as Andreth had grown, and her womanly beauty became more and more manifest, that some honorless man, seeing only her beauty and not the goodness and kindness of her heart, would speak flattering, meaningless words to the maiden to trick her into a loveless marriage filled with sorrow and misery. Now, Firiel's fears in that regard, were gone.

She smiled as she studied the side of Elros' face where the young elf sat, stirring the soup. His eyes were upon the dancing flames, and a distant smile was upon his face. His thoughts dwelt with Andreth. She would be in Mithlond now, warm in Círdan's house, gazing, perhaps out of the window to the north, thinking a little of Firiel, and much of Elros.

A soft tap at the door, unexpected and echoing in the stillness, caused her smile to fade. Elros turned and began to rise, but Firiel was already to the door, brushing her hands upon her skirt. Who could it be, at this hour on such a night? Baran and his family would not come, unless there was some dire need, and who else-

She opened the door as Elros' boots came behind her, and gazed upon the cloaked and hooded figure who stood beyond. A man, she saw, tall, and broad of shoulder, though she could not see his face. A leather pack hung over his shoulder. A traveler, perhaps, who had lost his way?

"May I be of service to you, sir?"

Slowly the man lifted his face, and Firiel could see the gleam of his eyes in the deep recesses of his hood.

Elros hand was upon the door, his other hand upon Firiel's shoulder, drawing her back. "May we help you?" he asked, taking Firiel's place, his solid form filling the doorway. A faint tone of challenge filled his words.

Looking over his shoulder, she sensed the man smile.

"_Lapse Titta_?" the man asked, then lifted his hand, throwing back his hood. "Elros?"

"_Otorno_!" Elros gasped, and stepped forward, throwing his arms around the dark-haired elf. "I wondered when I would see you again."

He turned to Firiel, and she lifted her eyes, her brows rising at the wetness gleaming in them. "Madam Firiel, this is Maglor."

Firiel's mouth opened. "Maglor, the bard?" Through her mind also, with her words, darted other words that had been spoken of him, which she would not now say.

"The same, Madam," said the strange elf with a bob of his head.

"I beg you then, my lord, and friend of my friend Elros, come in."

With his arm around his once foster father, Elros guided Maglor into the room, and to the warm hearth as Firiel shut the door behind them.

Maglor went willingly to the fire, and held out his hands, grateful for the warmth of the flames, but he did not remove his cloak, and his countenance, though clearly glad to see Elros, was tight. He seemed somewhat ill at ease, and Firiel remembered what Andreth had told her of this son of Fëanor, how he had not entered Círdan's house, and the Shipwright's explanation that Maglor had not felt himself worthy to go in. Did he feel the same way now? If so, why was he here? Driven, perhaps, by the cold to seek shelter? But this was not the coldest night of the winter, so it could not be that.

Despite her questions, Firiel said nothing, and returned to her bread dough, kneading it as she had before, though she watched both elven men now.

"I wondered when I would see you again," Elros said, his hand still clasping Maglor's shoulder. "I was barely conscious when I saw you last."

Firiel could hear the emotion in Elros' voice and dropped her eyes.

"Yes," Maglor said, penitence in his tone. "But I have been aware of you, and watching over you." Maglor's brows twitched. "If that is any comfort."

Elros smiled faintly at that. "I would have liked to have known this." The younger elf swallowed. "I've missed you, _Otorno_."

Maglor drew in a deep breath. The older elf looked thoughtfully down at his palm where Firiel noted now, a scar as if long ago, he had grasped something searingly hot that had burned him there. "And I, you,_ Lapse Titta_," Maglor said. "I am sorry I have not made myself known to you before now."

"Whatever has brought you tonight, I am glad you are here, now," said Elros, to which the older elf smiled sadly.

"And I am glad to be speaking with you, now that you are whole and well. But my purpose for coming is not-"

"Maedhros is- gone. Isn't he?" Elros' voice choked. as he spoke. His eyes fell to the scar upon Maglor's hand.

Maglor drew and released a deep breath at these words. "He is," he said softly, flexing the scarred hand into a fist. "After you heard that we won the last two jewels from Eönwë."

Elros inclined his head.

Maglor sighed. "They are gone, now, too." He opened his scarred palm. "For our sins, they burned our hands. Russandol could not bear to be parted from his jewel, and carried it with him as he- as he threw himself into a crack in the earth. Mine, I threw into the sea." He studied the scar on his hand, then turned his eyes to the fire. "One in the heavens, one in the earth, one in the sea. Perhaps they belonged there, all along. The wills of the Valar are never thwarted. Not for long. And I have learned that the difficult way."

In her place, Firiel sighed softly, but did not speak. Elros met her eyes before turning back to Maglor.

"I am glad you are still here, _Otorno_," Elros said quietly.

"I am glad as well," Maglor said, lifting his eyes, and drawing in a deep breath, bringing himself back from his thoughts. he reached out, clapping the young elf's shoulder. "If for nothing else but to keep you safe, and to see your happiness, _Lapse Titta_. Andreth is a marvel. In so very many ways. You are truly blessed."

Elros managed a faint grin at this. "I cannot agree with you more heartily, _Otorno_," he said softly, trading a smile with Firiel where she stood over the mound of bread dough.

"Will you not sit, my lord?" Firiel ventured, and Maglor turned kind eyes upon her. "Will you not make yourself easy? We are soon to begin supper, and there is plenty to spare."

Maglor sighed again, his gaze falling once more to the scar upon his palm. "Truly I would be honored. But the purpose of my coming is a dire one, for I fear, Eärendilion, that you are in danger."

"Danger?" Elros and Firiel both echoed at once.

"Yes," Maglor said. "I think you and this good woman should take your beasts, and all you can carry, and go to Mithlond, for your own safety. For I have seen him. I have looked into his very eyes, and there is an evil there that will not relent. I have ordered him to be gone, but in my heart, I do not think he will heed me. I fear he will seek to do you harm until he succeeds, or until he is dead himself."

Firiel's heart felt weighted at these words. She knew of whom Maglor spoke though he had not said the name.

Elros, too, understood. "You speak of Lang," he said, his voice thick.

"Yes," Maglor said, heaving a breath. "Lang is still alive."


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Andreth released a breath of mist in the air as she sighted down the arrow shaft, the string of her bow drawn taut to her cheek as she aimed at the center of the target Hathel had set some paces away over the snow.

The air was cold and still. Beyond the target, away over the trees, a haze of smoke hung in the still air, high in the cold, windless sky. It had been there since they had come here in the morning, and had not moved. The remnants of a woodsman's bonfire, perhaps.

"Calm your breathing, Andreth," Hathel's gentle voice said behind her.

Andreth closed her eyes, feeling the cold air upon her face, faint wind in her hair.

Drawing in a breath, she opened her eyes, listened to her heartbeat, then released the string.

The arrow sang through the cold air, and struck with a thunk, quivering, just outside the faded red circle.

Andreth winced, and a sympathetic hiss escaped Hathel's lips.

"I missed," she lamented.

"It's still a good shot," Hathel encouraged. "Your first day with a bow in your hand, you did not hit the target at first. Do you remember?"

Andreth turned to him warmed, despite the cold, by his smile.

Hathel wore a thick cloak against the cold, and his shoulder length hair fell about his face like a mane, accentuating his strong features. He was a good, honorable man, and Andreth was gladdened by the peace in his eyes.

"I do. You were very patient with me. But these last few months since winter began, I have not practiced as I should."

"That is-" Hathel cleared his throat. "My fault. I didn't come as I did during the summer."

Andreth offered Hathel a sympathetic smile and shook her head. "It is hardly your fault, Hathel. And-" She dropped her eyes, feeling her face coloring. "I can understand why you've stayed away."

To this, Hathel dropped his eyes as well, remaining quiet for a moment before he looked up again. "Andreth, may I share with you something I have learned the past few months since winter began?"

There was quiet earnestness in his tone, and she swallowed, meeting his eyes.

"Of course," she said.

"I have discovered, my lady," Hathel said, "that when love is true, it does not end. It cannot. It matters not whether one is an elf, or a mortal. For the nature of love, true, real love, itself is the same, for all free folk."

Andreth looked swiftly away. This was not what she had expected him to say. Was he saying that he would always love her, though his feelings would be forever unrequited?

"It does not end, my lady," Hathel added quickly, "but it _can _evolve into a different kind of caring, more suitable for the nature of the relationship."

Andreth's eyes shot up at this.

"My mother died when I was but a boy," he continued. "My memories of her are vague and uncertain. My father died not long ago in the war. I cannot remember even him perfectly. Some memories are like water through my hands. But there is one thing I remember that both my parents taught me, that has always remained with me."

"What is that?"

"That the All Father is a benevolent being," Hathel returned with a breath that hung in the air in a soft cloud before it faded. "That He loves all His children, all free folk created by Him, or by the Valar." Hathel chuckled softly, "which means He loves even Dwarves."

Andreth smiled.

"And the All Father would not fashion his children to be forever bereft if their love is not returned the first time they give their hearts away."

"Lady Galadriel once said something like that to me, as well," Andreth said. "Even elves can overcome the scars of unrequited love, and learn to love again. If they choose."

Hathel smiled, and his eyes were warm, and deep with gentle affection. "The Lady Galadriel is a wise, and goodly lady. Much like you."

He reached out, and gently touched Andreth's shoulder before letting his hand fall to his side. "I loved you, truly, once. And in truth, I still do." A half smile touched his lips as he looked away, thinking over some secret thought. "Though not- _exactly_ as I once did."

He swallowed and looked at the ground. "I-," he drew in a breath, "I am still- I am not blind to- your beauty. I could not, at this time, go seek a wife in good conscience, and with a heart that is _entirely_ free, but-." He sighed. "I honor, and have honored your choice, Andreth. And I am and have been happy for you. I feel the rightness of your choice, and everyday, I feel more and more at peace. I think, truly, that one day, we can be friends, good friends, as we have been meant to be, with no-," he swallowed, "no lingering pain on my part."

Andreth looked up into his face, blinking briefly to free her eyes of wetness, and smiled. "I am glad I know you, Hathel, son of Helendir. You are a good man."

Hathel looked up, a half grin upon his face. "I try to be," he said. "And I thank you for believing in me."

Andreth released a sigh at this, and turned from him, her eyes fixing again upon the target. She studied it a moment, then drew a second arrow from where it stood, stabbed into the snow, and nocked it to the string. She drew the string to her cheek, hearing the familiar creak of the bending bow in her ears as she sighted down the arrow shaft, drew in a breath, and released the string.

Away the arrow whistled over the snow, to strike, quivering, just off of the center of the red circle.

Andreth grinned, turning to see Hathel's smile of approval. But then her mouth parted slightly, and a question touched her thoughts as beyond his shoulder, she saw someone striding toward them across the snow from the direction of Círdan's house.

"Linnod-" she began, then corrected herself. "Maglor!" She lifted a hand waving to him. "Lord Maglor!"

Maglor lifted a hand in return as she turned and hurried toward him across the flat white sheet of snow, Hathel at her shoulder. But his somber expression did not change into a smile as she drew near.

Andreth's own smile faded as a sense of tense trepidation filled her. "Maglor," she demanded as they came within an arm's width of each other, and stopped. "Is Elros-,"

"Elros is fine," Maglor said quickly. "In fact, none whom you care for have been hurt."

Andreth's heart sank back into its place with relief.

"Maglor, the minstrel?" Hathel asked, a guarded tone in his voice.

"The same," Maglor said, his eyes grown guarded.

"I understand that you-" Hathel said softly, "saved her life."

To this, Maglor heaved a sigh. "Elrond saved her. He knew how to use the herb I gave him."

"Nevertheless, I am glad you had it," Hathel said. "She is a good friend to me."

"It is comforting to know Andreth has good friends." Maglor managed a terse smile before he turned back to Andreth, his eyes still tense. "But I have come with unfortunate news." He pointed northward, toward the distant haze of smoke that hung in the sky far to the north. Andreth had barely noted it before away over the trees, far to the north. "It concerns that."

Again Andreth's heart tensed. "What is it?" she breathed.

Maglor's expression melted into one of compassion. "You have visitors awaiting you at Círdan's house. I will tell you on the way."

Wordless, she nodded, traded a glance with Hathel, then followed Maglor as he turned and started back toward the high house where it rose upon the bluff overlooking the sea.

"As I said," Maglor continued as they walked, "Elros is fine. As is Firiel, and even your little beast, the little goat-,"

"Lavaniel," Andreth offered.

"Yes." Maglor managed a smile. "Plucky little thing."

"Then," she hesitated, and traded another look with Hathel. "What is amiss?"

Maglor sighed. "To begin, Lang still lives."

Andreth's heart clenched.

"I saw him in the forest near Firiel's land, and I spoke to him, warning him to leave Elros and all those he cared for, in peace. But I could see in his eyes a void similar to what I have seen only in the eyes of orcs. I fear he has given his soul over to darkness, and I do not think he ever means to relent."

A hand touched her shoulder at this. "Is Andreth in danger?" Hathel asked.

Maglor looked at the mortal. "Not so long as I live," he said, turning to look again at Andreth.

"I went to Firiel's house, and spoke to her, and to Elros of my fears," Maglor continued. "They both felt it wise to speak to her friends as well, Baran and his family, for Lang, I fear, would not hesitate to hurt anyone who has befriended Elros. And so we went to speak to them." He grinned. "We journeyed to see them, and Firiel rode upon Elros' mount, Nórui. The little goat could not be dissuaded from joining us, for she and the horse have become fast friends these last months since Yule. And for that, I am now glad." He looked northward again, and sighed. "For as we spoke in Baran's dwelling, we saw beyond the window, a bright light of fire filling the sky."

Maglor sighed raggedly. "Firiel's house and all her out buildings have been burnt to the ground," Maglor said, emotion choking his voice. "I have no doubt that Lang caused it."

They were just entering the yard before the main door. The stable's stood to their left. Andreth stopped. She had grown almost from babyhood in Firiel's house! Though it was not itself alive, Andreth felt almost as if she had just lost a dear, cherished friend. "Firiel's house? Burnt? Gone?"

Hathel's arm tightened upon hers, and she turned to look up into his compassionate eyes.

Andreth sighed, and turned to meet Maglor's eyes as well.

But the dark haired elf had gone. Vanished suddenly, as if upon the wind.

A wickering voice beside her, turned her head, and Andreth found a smile coming again to her face as she met Nórui's large brown eyes.

"Nórui!" she greeted, cheered a little.

At the sound of her voice, the stallion tossed his head in greeting, and a scrabbling scratching sound bumped at the door of his stall, followed by a merry bleat.

Peering over the side of Nórui's door, Andreth brightened further to see Lavaniel there, standing upon her hind legs, her forefeet scrabbling at the door, her eyes eager.

"Lavaniel!" Andreth cried, reaching both arms over the door to rub the goat's head. The goat pressed her head into Andreth's hands, clearly glad to see her.

"Andreth?"

At the sound of the voice she loved so well, cracking with age, though warm with affection, Andreth turned.

Firiel stood upon the steps of Círdan's house, and in the moment it took Andreth's heart to fill with gladness at the sight of her, her heart also twinged with worry at the lines of sorrow and weariness that had deepened upon her friend's face since she had seen her last. Andreth was glad to see Círdan at Firiel's side, and a warm shawl around her stooped shoulders.

Behind the aged mortal, stood Baran, and Elrond as well. And at his brother's side, stood Elros, his warm eyes fixed upon her.

Despite the weight in her heart, her heart sang at the sight of him. And Andreth smiled.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

As Andreth opened her eyes to see a sky blazing with bright stars, she smiled, and scrambled to her feet, feeling the familiar rustle of rich cloth as she stood, the diadem upon her unbound hair, and the pearl necklace at her breast, though she knew she had gone to bed unadorned, and clad in but her night shift.

She glanced eagerly about herself, her eyes darting over the dreamscape she had not seen in months, not since Elros had left Mithlond to dwell with Firiel. She turned her eyes northward, then southward, seeking for some sign of him.

She could not see him. And the land seemed- strange- different. She recognized where she was, upon the east facing beach where she and Elros had met so many times. But the earth beneath her feet was rougher, no finely ground sand, but hard, dark rock. And there was no grass on the slope rising up from the shoreline.

With a furrowed brow, Andreth gathered the rich skirts of her gown in her fists, and climbed up the bank to the peak of the knoll, and looked again about the land. Her smile began to fade as she realized she was alone, and while she recognized the mountain far in the distance as the one she and Elros had seen before, all the land seemed strange and barren. The mountain was dark, but for streams of lava spilling from its mouth, or from fissures in its side, flowing away from it in glowing rivers. Far away to her right, one of these rivers met the sea, and she could hear the hiss of the water meeting the molten rock, and see the rising clouds of steam.

This all, was strange and alarming enough, but more than that, where was Elros?

"Fair daughter of men."

The voice that sounded beside her would have frightened her but for the gentleness of the tones. A woman's voice. And she turned, drawing in a sudden breath at the sight of the fair lady before her, knowing instinctively, that she was in the presence of one of the Valiër. The lady was beautiful, with flawless gleaming skin, and hair that seemed to catch in a gentle breeze that Andreth could not feel. Her slender form was clad in grey raiment that glowed like silver, a light seeming to shine from within her very skin as she smiled upon Andreth.

"My lady," Andreth gasped, dropping into, she feared, an awkward curtsey. Her mind dashed over Elros' tale of his meeting with the Lord Irmo, and she guessed at the lady's name. "Lady Estë?" she wondered, looking up.

"Indeed, my child," the lady said, reaching out a fair, slender hand. Her eyes were gentle and bright, and her smile as soft as a mother's love. "Thou art very perceptive. Come, child. Rise and walk with me, as the one whom thou lovest once walked with my husband. I have much to show thee."

Andreth swallowed as she studied the hand the lady held to her. The hand of a Valië, of one, whom her people thought of as a goddess.

Tentatively, she rose, and slipped her hand into the hand of Lady Estë. The Valië smiled, and gently squeezed. Her touch felt cool and smooth, but otherwise no different than the hand of any other lady she knew.

"Is all this happening, truly?" Andreth whispered as she studied Estë's gentle eyes.

"Indeed," the Valië returned softly. "And even more now, than when you dreamed with your dear one. For this land, Númenor, as it shall be called by one of its names, is no dream vision, but real."

"But how?" Andreth asked. "My body is sleeping in Círdan's house. Yet I do not feel as if I were a spirit." She drew in a breath. "I breath, I feel-," She touched a hand to her cheek. "I am as corporeal as when I am awake upon the shores of our Middle Earth. None of this feels as if it were a dream. How is it? And why am I here? Why also, is the land changed?"

Estë laughed, a pleasant, gentle sound like the ringing of soft bells. "Oh, my child," she breathed, "you are as inquisitive as I was told you would be. Your mind seeks and hungers for knowledge. That is a wonderful thing. You will make a marvelous queen of this land. Your questions please me, truly. But for the time that is, ask not how, for I could not tell you in ways or words that your mind can yet grasp how it is all done. Know only that it _is_. As for the why, it is because you are to be rulers of this land, thou and the younger of Eärendil's sons whom thou lovest. It is made for you, thou and all thy people, to be a blessed and happy land for the faithful of the Edain who have served us with courage and honor."

The lady gestured with her hand, and Andreth looked to where she pointed. For a moment, her grasp upon Estë's hand tightened. For though the sky had remained unchanged, they were not standing where they were moments before.

The two ladies stood, hand in hand, upon the steep slope of a great mountain, looking down over a wide, vast land that stretched into the distance, so that Andreth could not see the ocean. Beneath her feet, the rock felt warm, and trembled a little, and she became conscious of a steady growling rumble that filled the air, and a harsh, bitter scent. Somehow, her instincts told her it was the scent of molten stone, brought up from deep beneath the earth. She knew now, that she stood upon the side of the great mountain she had seen so often from a distance, now with streams of melted rock flowing down its slopes.

The land below her down the slope and far away, looked dark and barren beneath the moon. Of what she could see, nothing grew in all the vast landscape below her. And from where she stood, she could see three rivers of lava that flowed out and away from the feet of the mountain, toward the horizon in three directions, beyond which, she guessed the sea waited, cooling the rivers of molten rock with crashing water, and clouds of hissing steam as she had seen of the one river of molten rock moments before. As she stood, the mountain, beneath her feet, rumbled, and a sudden snarl as of a living beast seemed to fairly tear the mountain apart as it swelled beneath her feet and rose many lengths into the air.

"Do not be afraid," Estë commanded, though with her other hand, she grasped the frightened girl's wrist, and turned her, so that Andreth could see again, only the Valië's eyes. "Nothing can hurt thee. Thou art here in spirit, in the land where thou art to rule at thy lord's side, as his wife and equal. This-," she gestured about them, "is how your blessed land appears at this very moment as it rises out of the sea from whence it came, and to which it will one day-,"

For a fleeting moment, Estë looked troubled, but she did not finish her thought, and smiled again. "It is no longer a dream as it will appear, but how it truly is, now, at this moment as thy body lays sleeping on the shores of Middle Earth. In but a short time, it will be ready for you, and for the Edain who will be summoned, and who will join you, the faithful among mortals who have served and loved us, and the All Father. Many of your people will be the folk of Hador, also the folk of Haleth, and of the Drúedain. Also, there are those of thy own kin, the folk of Bëor. They will sail here with you, in ships fashioned by the faithful Círdan, to dwell between the lands of Middle Earth, and the Undying Lands to the west."

"All this, Lord Irmo showed to Elros?"

Estë nodded her head.

"He said very little of his meeting with Lord Irmo, only that it had happened."

"He was forbidden to speak much, even to thee, until I showed thee what my lord showed him." Estë smiled. "Now, when thou art awake, you may speak of what you have seen between yourselves, but only when you are alone."

Andreth nodded.

"I wish to show thee more. Look there."

Estë pointed westward, and Andreth followed her finger. Despite the trembling that she could still feel beneath her feet, and the acrid scent of brimstone in the air, Andreth caught her breath at the soft glow she could see upon the very edge of the horizon.

"That is Valinor?" she asked. "The Undying Lands?"

"It is Tol Eressëa." Estë gently squeezed her hand. "An island, not far from the mainland of Valinor itself."

"It looks beautiful," Andreth sighed. "Even from so far away."

"It is," Estë agreed. "But remember, child, the wisdom of the All Father decrees that no mortal shall set foot upon the shores of those lands. It is not out of spite, but out of love, that he had created such a ban. Remember that. And teach thus, I beg thee, to thy children."

Andreth dropped her eyes. "I will," she vowed.

A gentle finger touched her chin, and she looked up into the eyes of the Valië. Estë smiled, somewhat sadly, though with gentleness and hope in her eyes. "When the world is remade, when elves and mortals and all who are good and free dwell together in the bliss beyond bliss, there will be no such need for bans or borders. But there is need now."

"I understand," Andreth said.

Estë smiled again. "I know thou doest, and that, my child, is what will make thee such a wonderful queen. He who loves thee, said the same as well." Estë's smile turned playful as she added, "Though thou wilt be pleased by what my own lord told me he also said, concerning the light that he could see of Tol Eressëa."

"What was that?" Andreth asked.

"That for all its loveliness, he would trade it all, for a life with thee as your husband, with thee as his queen."

Andreth dropped her eyes, again, blushing now. "I do not know what I have done to earn the devotion of one so wonderful as Elros," she murmured. "I am so very blessed."

"He is blessed as well, Andreth daughter of Beldir," Estë murmured. "For thy soul is as pure as the snow that will grace this peak one day. Thy heart seeks naturally after knowledge and wisdom, and thou knowest true beauty when thou findest it. There are so many who love thee for that, and will honor thee as their queen, and heed thy words."

Estë gently squeezed Andreth's hand, and the maiden looked up into her eyes.

"Elros Eärendilion loves thee, dearly," Estë whispered. "And as the years pass, he will only grow to love thee more."

A hand touched her shoulder, and Andreth looked up into the eyes of the lovely Valië. "To him, mortality was no sacrifice. He will never regret his choice. For mortality is his destiny, and thou, my child, hast woven thy own destiny with his into what will become a beautiful tapestry."

Andreth felt wetness in her eyes and she blinked it away. As she did, the land around her changed again, and she found herself once more, upon a beach facing the sea. Though now, she could see from the stars above her head, that she faced westward.

The glimmer of Tol Eressëa that she had once seen from the slope of the great mountain, was no longer visible.

Far behind her, to the east, the mountain where she had stood a moment before, rose up into the sky, dark, but for rivers of molten rock which flowed down its sides, or from fissures in its surface, away toward the sea. From here, she could see two more glowing rivers of molten stone flowing down the northern slope of the great mountain. Then there were five rivers of lava flowing away to the sea from the mountain, etching, carving, forming the land into what it would become.

Where she stood, though, the land was calm, the earth cool and soft beneath her feet. And here, poking up their brave heads from the dark earth, small grasses and even flowers were beginning to grow.

"The Lady Yavannah has begun to plant, and will yet bless this land with many wonderful gifts, plants and animals, forests and grasslands," Estë said, releasing Andreth's hand, and stepping away a few paces. "And elves from the isle which you saw are helping her, also."

She turned back. "I understand that one of the sons of the maker of the Silmarilli gifted leaves and seeds of a wondrous healing plant to thee."

"Yes," Andreth remembered, "Maglor gave me leaves and seeds of athelas, to save Elros when he was hurt."

"Thou hast them still?"

Andreth nodded, thinking of the leather bag for which Maglor had never asked that she return. It sat, still, upon her dressing table, its precious contents still safely tucked away within.

"Bring them with thee when you sail away from Middle Earth," Estë commanded. "Plant them. They will thrive here, and bless the lives of thy people. In time, they will be carried back across the sea, and will do great good in Middle Earth as well."

"I will," Andreth vowed.

"Thy time here is nearly done, my child. But before thou wakest, I would bid thee to do one more task."

"I will do anything you wish, my lady," Andreth answered.

Again, Estë smiled. "Bid thy friend, Aelin, come with you, when you depart to sail to this land. She will not be disappointed."

"Yes, my lady." She bowed her head, and as she lifted her head again, Estë was gone.

Andreth blinked, and suddenly found herself in her own room, snuggled beneath the warm sheets of her bed, drawing in a breath of cold air, she sat up, shivering. Moonlight filtered through the curtains that cloaked her ice encrusted window. In the opposite corner of her room, within a modest fireplace, the coals of a once bright fire had crumpled into barely glowing embers. Splices of wood waited beside the fireplace in an iron crate.

But even as she contemplated rising, and stirring the coals to life, adding a piece of wood to bring warmth into her room, a shadow outside her window where one had not been a moment before, interrupted the moonlight, and a soft tap echoed through the glass.

Andreth scrambled out of bed, snatching up her dressing gown, and draping it about herself as she hurried to the window, curious, and drawing the curtain back.

Her brows lifted at the sight of Elros, hooded and shivering beneath the cloak she had woven for his begetting day, standing upon her ice frosted balcony.

At the sight of her face within, he smiled, a pleading look upon his face. At his feet, sat a large, shapeless leather pack. How did he get there? Surely the only way would have been for him to vault up onto the stables, and walk the icy ridgepole, then pull himself and that awkward pack with him, up over her railing.

Stifling a laugh, Andreth grasped the handle of the window, and wrenched on it, fighting against the ice that had crusted it. But with Elros' aide, the door eventually drew far enough open to admit him, his large, awkward pack, and a breath of bitterly cold air with him.

"Elros, what are you doing here?" she hissed in a laughing whisper that turned into a cloud in the cold air before Elros turned, and pushed the door closed, shutting out the biting air before turning to her and smiling as he brushed back his hood to study her in the dim light as the curtain fell back into its place, muting the moonlight once again. "The night must be as cold as the crossing of the Helcaraxë!"

Even as he smiled, he shivered, and his face was pale with cold. Her heart smote with pity, and she sought his hands wanting to warm them, but he drew his cloak more tightly about himself, and she drew her hands back for a moment.

"Yes, but if I am not mistaken," he breathed, his teeth still chattering, "when dawn comes, it will be the anniversary of your birth."

Andreth smiled and blushed at this. In yesterday's excitement, with Elros and Firiel coming to Mithlond, and the sadness of learning the fate of Firiel's house and buildings mingled with her relief that her dear ones were safe, Andreth had almost forgotten.

"I am sorry to have startled you," he murmured. "The front door is latched, and I did not wish to summon some poor servant from sleep. But I wanted to see you. I brought-"

"Elros, I saw Lady Estë."

Elros' mouth froze in the middle of a word. "Wh- who?"

Andreth reached out, touching the hem of the cloak she had woven for him, a gift for his begetting day. The heavy cloth was still ice cold and stiff to the touch. Even so, her own blood grew warm, and faint trails of longing trembled through her body at his nearness, his tall, strong form, here with her, in her bed chamber, in the middle of the night-

She looked away, conscious of how she was clad, a thin dressing gown shielding a thinner sleeping shift, and- nothing else.

"I saw her, in my dreams, not but a few moments ago," she said, her eyes still down as she drew the edges of her dressing gown more tightly across herself. "The wife of Lord Irmo, the Vala who showed you the land she called- Númenor."

Elros' hand parted the cloth of his cloak, and touched her shoulder. His hand was still cold, but strong and firm.

She looked up into eyes grown suddenly earnest. "Tell me everything," he pleaded.

Andreth opened her mouth to speak, but found her words frozen_. Ai,_ he was beautiful, she thought to herself, and glanced away as a swell of desire stirred deep within her, an ache that was almost painful. She shuddered a little.

"You're cold?" he asked, and she turned back to him, meeting his eyes.

"Only a little," she murmured, glancing away again.

Elros turned away and looked across the dark room toward the glowing coals of her fire.

"Your fire is nearly gone," he observed. He turned back to her, and a soft smile came to his face. "Come."

His hand slid to her elbow, still cold, though gradually warming.

The tread of his boots brushed over the floor as he led her away from the ice-crusted window, nearer to the glow of the fire.

He squeezed her hand as her feet found the thick, sheep skin rug that lay before the fireplace. Andreth smiled as her toes curled appreciatively into the warm softness.

"Here," Elros whispered warmly into her ear, and she stepped away as he bid her. She watched as he moved, his face and arms faint in the light of the coals as he bent over the iron box where lengths of split wood waited. In his sturdy arms, he gathered up two wedges of wood, and moved to the fire alcove where the coals simmered.

Sparks flew up as he added one, then another of the two pieces of wood, then stood back, rubbing his hands appreciatively. After a moment, as the flames climbed, he stepped back and sighed, unlacing the fastenings of his cloak, and removed it, folding it, and dropping it to the floor beside the sheep skin.

The strong, beautiful angles of his face and hands, the firm lines of his tall, firm body, more visible now without his cloak, glowed in the light that slowly grew as the wood began to ignite, little tongues of flame beginning to lick upward.

"Stay here a moment," he said. "Let me give you this. It is the reason why I came."

He turned and made his way back to the window, lifted the heavy pack, and brought it to her, setting it upon the sheep skin rug, then stepped back.

Andreth knelt down before the large object veiled in the large leather pack, and loosened the knot, drawing it back, and casting it away to reveal-

Her lips parted and she smiled as the sheet of leather fell away from the small cradle Elros had shown her at Yule. The one he had been carving for their children. She had thought it lost in the fire. But for a scar of black upon one corner, it seemed otherwise unhurt.

She looked up into his eyes that gleamed now in the light of her fire as Elros knelt across the small cradle from her. "How was the cradle saved?"

"We found it, almost entirely unhurt in the midst of the remains of Firiel's house. "That, and a chair I made for Firiel, and a few stone bowls, were salvaged."

"But it is wooden. How did it survive?"

Elros shrugged. "I cannot say."

Andreth dropped her eyes at this. "The grace of the Valar, I suppose," she murmured.

"Firiel and I were making you a pair of mittens out of rabbit skins, but alas, they were lost in the fire."

Andreth sighed at this. "Do not worry," she said. Then smiled. "You can keep my hands warm."

Beneath the smooth skin, his jaw grew taut, and he looked down, his eyes studying her hands as they gripped the smooth edge of the cradle he had carved. "Tell me of your meeting with her," he said, reaching out and resting his hands upon hers, and gripping them gently. The chill was gone from his hands, now. "With the lady Estë."

Andreth sighed, and looked away toward the dancing flames. "She was beautiful," she began.

"Not so beautiful as you, I'll wager."

She looked up, to find his eyes gazing across the little wooden cradle at her. The firelight danced off his face, his hair, and his eyes, soft and grey as the sea. Andreth found herself trembling again, and she knew it was not from cold. She ducked her eyes, and glanced away, only to feel his fingers beneath her chin, lifting her face.

"I meant what I say," he whispered. "I saw the fair isle of Tol Eressëa upon the horizon, and fair as it was, I felt no longing to go there. All that I am, yearns toward _you_. For one lifetime with you, I would trade all the beauties of Valinor, and all its lands."

Gently, his thumb caressed her lower lip, and Andreth felt her heart begin to throb painfully within her.

"The firelight upon your face, in your eyes, on your hair, and upon your skin-" Elros swallowed fiercely. "_Ai,_ my Tindómiel. It is truly intoxicating. How I wish I could stay here with you. How I wish I was at liberty to show you-"

"I am not-" her voice trembled, "I am not yet your wife-"

"No, you are not," he murmured. And with that, Elros sat back, seeming to come again to himself. "I should go." He paused a moment, and dropped his eyes. "But I do not wish to leave."

Andreth's smile trembled. "Is Hathel so unpleasant a bunk mate, or Master Sigil?"

"No," Elros said, and chuckled warmly. "Hathel is an affable host, and Sigil is a good soul-," his voice softened.

"Master Sigil fought in the War of Wrath," Andreth said. "Did you know?"

Elros nodded. "He took a blow to the head. That is why he is the way he is."

"Also, Hathel's father fought."

"Did he?"

"Hathel wished to fight with his father, but Helendir forbade him, and went to the war alone."

"Hathel told you this?"

"Lord Círdan did." Andreth sighed.

"I never knew that," Elros murmured. "And I was there, in the war. I knew there was much loss among the Edain. I wish I had known."

"Master Baran, our neighbor, fought, also."

"Indeed?" Elros breathed.

Andreth nodded. "He fought in the same company my father did."

A long moment of silence passed.

"You wish them to join us," Elros said.

"The faithful Edain who have served the Valar, who fought to defeat the Evil One; they are all worthy to dwell in this new land with us," she said, looking up into his eyes. "So said Lady Estë."

Elros smiled softly. "And Lord Irmo," he agreed.

He studied her eyes a moment longer. "I am glad that you have seen what I have seen."

"As am I," she said, lifting a hand, and smoothing a stray lock of hair back behind the pointed peak of his ear.

He closed his eyes, his breath visibly quickening at her touch.

"I shouldn't stay," he breathed. "I am in your bedchamber, there are no others near, and you, Tindómiel-,"

At last color darkened his cheeks and he looked away toward the window to her balcony, his voice deepening. "You are not dressed for visitors."

"Then, at least leave by the door," she teased, and Elros smiled in return.

He studied her face a moment longer, drinking in the sight of her as he did, clearly reluctant to leave.

At last, though, he rose to his feet, gathering up his cloak in a rustle of cloth.

"May your dreams be sweet, my beloved," he murmured, bending over, intending to kiss Andreth upon her brow. But she lifted her face as he bent near, and his lips, instead, met hers.

Andreth smiled as Elros' lips lingered, warm and soft, upon hers. With a soft moan, he dropped again to one knee, and his hand reached out, cupping her throat in warm, lean fingers.

Andreth was conscious of the little wooden cradle still between them, and she wished, impulsively, to push it out of their way, and let herself melt into his arms as the softness of the sheepskin enveloped them, forgetting everything. But she drew in a sharp gasp of air in the same moment he did as Elros broke their kiss and released her, drawing back to sit upon his heels.

"You are making it difficult for me to leave," he murmured softly.

"I am sorry," she said, bowing her head, and fixing her eyes upon the carvings on the wooden cradle.

"_Do not be_," he sighed. " But I will go now." He rose to his feet.

"Sleep well, Elros."

"And dream well," he said.

Andreth looked up at him again, and smiled.

Elros turned away then, and strode to her door, opened it and stepped out, shutting it behind him with a resounding click as the latch fell into place.

Suddenly weary again, Andreth sighed, and lay back, warm, despite a lack of a covering, upon the warm softness of the sheep skin, comforted by the fire that Elros had renewed for her. She caressed the smooth wood of the cradle, the intricate carvings his hand had fashioned, and let her hand fall to the warm softness of the sheep skin. And with a contented sigh, and with Elros' beautiful face in her thoughts, she let her eyes close.


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

Andreth smiled, pleased at her nearly finished tapestry, studying the eyes of the fair haired elf maiden who smiled out of the cloth at her, the girl's eyes blue and bright, her face turned to look outward, her lips curling up in a smile of surprised pleasure as if, looking out of the tapestry, she saw something, or someone she had not expected, but was nevertheless glad to see. In one hand, the maiden held a silver petaled flower; the other lifted the hem of her white dress as if she were turning to take a step forward out of the tapestry.

Andreth smiled at the maiden upon the tapestry, feeling, somehow, a kinship with the girl, though she was nothing more, in truth, than a mingling of threads of varied hues. So alive she looked. She hoped she would be finished soon, for spring was near, and wished it to be finished in time for Elrond's begetting day.

About the room, other ladies wove and chatted, the mood bright and cheering. In one corner, Aelin sat, playing a harp, while another elven lady accompanied her upon a reed flute. A soft creaking accompanied the music, and Andreth turned to cast a smile toward Firiel who sat in the rocking chair Elros had crafted for her, rocking in time to the gentle music, and smiling upon Andreth with weary, but happy eyes.

"To think, that my little girl is twenty, today," Firiel said when their eyes met. "I should have brought you something for your birthday."

"You are the best birthday present I could ever have," Andreth returned, turning fully to face her friend.

Firiel's eyes were bright, and her smile, though she seemed wearier than Andreth remembered.

When Andreth was younger, she could not remember a time when Firiel was still. Always bustling here and there, always busy, and full of energy. Her mind ever sharp and quick.

Now, she seemed content merely to listen to the music and smile, her eyes straying to Galadriel who sat near her, examinging different lengths of very fine, transparent gossamer of varying hues, smiling now and then as the elven lady offered them to Firiel for her inspection.

Firiel seemed happy enough, but she was moving more slowly than before, and today, she had said she wished she could have brought Andreth a present. Did Firiel not remember that her house and all her belongings, save for a few small things had been burnt? That she had nothing to give her?

A pang of worry smote Andreth's heart, but she struggled to keep it from showing upon her face. However, the truth weighted her heart. Firiel was old. Older even, than Master Gondien, who had injured himself some months before, falling from the scaffolding near the rising lighthouse in Mithlond. He could walk now, but not as he once had, and she knew he would never fully heal. Being mortal, and aged, the cold troubled him terribly, and Círdan had excused him from work until spring. She still visited him every day, bringing him tea, or sweetmeats, and he always seemed glad to see her, but he seemed weary, like Firiel did now, and everyday he seemed to sink a little more. Círdan had promised Gondien employment once spring came. But the old man had confided to her that he did not think he would live to see the end of winter.

The thought sobered Andreth, reminding her that she needed to visit him this morning, and brew him some tea; that always seemed to cheer him.

A stirring in the doorway pulled her from her thoughts, and turned all the ladies' heads. The music faltered for a minute at the tall, solid form of a man, Elrond, who entered the ladies' weaving room with obvious hesitation, and a face written with apology. His eyes found Andreth's and his face brightened into a grin as he strode toward her across the room. His hands were behind his back.

"Elrond!" she greeted, hopping to her feet and hurrying to him.

"How is your tapestry coming, little sister?" he asked. The face of the tapestry was turned so that Elrond could not see it, but he moved as if to step around Andreth, and look.

"Don't go any closer," she chided. "That tapestry is for your begetting day."

"Ah, but I've seen it already," he teased, moving as if he wished to step around her and view the nearly finished maiden.

"But not now, that it's nearly done, Elrond," she scolded, pretending exasperation. "Come tell me what you've invaded our sanctuary for."

The music resumed, and the other ladies continued their work, the hum of the room returning as Elrond grinned. "I found a certain brother of mine asleep on my divan this morning. He had a most foolish grin upon his face even in sleep, and I could not for the life of me discern how he got in the house, for both doors had been latched ere we all went to bed."

Andreth felt a grin teasing at the corners of her mouth as she remembered Elros' visit to her bedchamber in the bitter cold night. "And what did he tell you upon his waking?" she asked.

Elrond's grin grew mischievous. "It wasn't what he said when he woke, as what he said while he still slept. Something about a maiden's balcony and a darkened bedchamber in the middle of the night. And of an unspeakably beautiful face glowing in the light of a small fire."

Andreth flushed furiously at this. "He wished to give me an early birthday present, and left very quickly. He did kiss me, but we did nothing untoward."

Elrond's grin eased at this, and he nodded. "I know," he said, penitent now. "I merely wished to give you this."

From behind his back, he brought forth a small box, carved of wood.

"Happy birthing day, little sister," Elrond said, smiling as Andreth's eyes widened in pleased delight as she took the gift into her hands.

The box was circular, and stood upon four delicately carved legs. Lifting off the intricately carved lid, Andreth gazed inside, admiring the bowl of the box, carved smooth, and polished until it gleamed.

"It's beautiful." she breathed. "Thank you."

"Hathel will be pleased to hear that." Elrond paused. "He made it."

Andreth lifted surprised eyes at this.

"He can do more than carve stone," Elrond said. "I asked him to carve this for you, and he readily agreed. He would take no payment."

Andreth sighed, remembering the words she had shared with Hathel the day before. He was a good man, and a true friend. "I should thank him," she said. "Where is he now?"

"Elros said that Hathel was to bring in firewood for your old friend, Gondien, today."

Andreth grinned at this. "I was just thinking of going to visit Gondien, and taking him some tea. I could see them both at once."

Elrond grinned. "I mean to go help Lord Círdan, down in Mithlond, in one of the great boathouses along the waterside, so I will walk you part of the way."

"My lady," Andreth called, turning to meet Galadriel's eyes. "Elrond and I are going down into the city."

Galadriel smiled and nodded, to which Andreth turned away, slipping her arm into Elrond's, and the pair turned and hurried out the door.

…oOo…

Hathel hoisted the bundle of wood that hung over both his shoulders, striving to ignore the uncomfortable wood scratching and digging into his back as he and his two companions trudged along the cold streets, careful to avoid patches of ice over the stone pavement at their feet. At least the work was warding off the cold. Beside him, Sigil, wide faced like a child, struggled to maintain his footing as he slipped along at Hathel's side.

Steps in front of him, however, Elros seemed hardly to notice the slippery ground beneath them, or the weight upon his back as he strode along, his elven grace unhindered by the bulky weight of the wood.

Beside him, Sigil's eyes widened as an icy patch caught one foot, but Hathel's hand shot out snatching his arm, and kept Sigil from falling. Nothing more than a faint whisper upon the frozen stone gave the near mishap away, but to this, Elros turned his head.

"Are you all right?" the elf asked, concern upon his face as he reached back, and took Sigil's opposite arm.

What a marvel was the hearing of the elves!

"This is heavy," Sigil admitted.

"We're nearly there," Elros promised, smiling, and clapping Sigil upon the back.

On they continued, the three of them now side by side. Hathel released a deep breath of steam into the cold air. The elf seemed hardly out of breath, and Elros' pack was heavier than his own! Truly it was no wonder that Andreth had chosen-

Hathel heaved another breath and crushed the thought away before it was fully formed. He had promised himself he would not entertain such thoughts any more. Elros was good and noble, and would make Andreth happy.

A moment later, the narrow street on which they walked widened, and old Gondien's house came into view.

For a moment, Hathel faltered. For the door stood open, and in the doorway stood a young woman, shaking out a small, woven rug. The one that sat before the old man's chair in his sitting room. Andreth often came and performed such services, but this maiden was not Andreth. Her garments were plain and rough. Though long dark hair hid most of her face, something intangible about her suggested a delicate, but resilient loveliness, and in her movements, he felt an enduring strength. Without seeing the men nearing her, the maiden turned and retreated inside.

"Father, I've set-," the young woman said before the door shut out the cold behind her, as well as the rest of her words.

_Father?_ Hathel lifted his brows, and glanced beside him toward Elros. He had not known Gondien had a daughter.

Elros did not speak, but his own lifted brows betrayed his own curiosity.

"Come," the elf said, and the three continued forward. Elros foremost as he approached the door, and gave a soft rap upon the wood.

For a long moment, they heard nothing from within, longer even, than when Gondien were alone. But at last, the door creaked open, and a face appeared.

No, Hathel corrected himself, only half a face, the face of the maiden he had seen a moment before. Glistening dark hair spilled down her arm in a rich cascade, her hand gripped the wood of the door tightly, and her one visible eye regarded them with distrust, a delicately shaped eye, dark, as if he could see into her very soul, beneath the soft curve of her eye brow. Her lip was sweetly curved, and the shapely curve of her cheek was softly flushed. If only half of her face was this lovely, what did the rest of her face look like?

"Good day, mistress," Elros greeted her. "We are friends of, er, your father, Master Gondien. We have brought a load of firewood. We understood his supply was growing low."

"Oh," the young woman replied. She shook her head. "I am sorry, but he has little money to pay-,"

"We are friends of his, mistress," Hathel offered, stepping forward. "We do not require payment."

At this, the girl's eye turned at last from Elros, and studied Hathel. She fell silent as her one visible eye studied his face long and searchingly. Hathel swallowed hard. This was the first time he had been in Elros' presence when any woman had paid more attention to him than to the handsome elf. At long last, the look in her eye seemed to soften, and the ghost of a smile touched the visible corner of her mouth.

"Mithlond is a goodly place, I am beginning to think," she said. "I am not certain where there is a space for the wood-"

"We know where to put it," Sigil volunteered, clapping a hand upon Hathel's shoulder. "Master Hathel has brought Master Gondien firewood many times before."

"Has he?" the girl asked, her eye turning again upon Hathel. "Then come in, I beg you."

She stepped back, and opened the door wider, permitting them to enter.

The house was dark, and only a little less cold than it had been outside. Within the fire grate, coals simmered, and little more. A small pot of water simmered on the stone hearth before the faintly glowing coals.

"Good morning to you, Master Gondien," Elros greeted to a figure as yet shadowed to Hathel's sight in a corner where the girl retreated, taking a place beside the shadowy figure of Gondien.

"Good morning to you as well, my boys," came Gondien's cracking voice. "Young Andreth- she is well?"

"She is," Elros returned in a warm voice. "In truth, today is her birthing day. She is twenty."

"Ah." Gondien smiled. "I shall remember to give her my good wishes then when she comes."

"She will like that," Elros said with a grin before he passed through the sitting room and then the modest little kitchen with a cold pile of coals in the small grate, out the back door into the cold again, with Hathel on his heels. The stack of split wood beside the back door was indeed nearly gone.

"Here, Hathel," volunteered Elros. "Master Sigil and I will stack the wood. You take these, and waken the fire, so that Master Gondien and his daughter will be warmer."

"Very well, Lord Elros," Hathel agreed willingly, sluffing off his own pack, and taking the split wood that Elros placed in his arms, he turned back inside, and started back toward the fore of the house.

"I am sorry, my child," Gondien's voice was saying in his cracked voice, his tones subdued as if he did not wish to be overheard, and Hathel paused just before the doorway, fearing to interrupt words between father and daughter. "I did not know you were not receiving my letters."

"He had told me you did not care any more for me, and did not want to see me any more," the girl was saying softly. "A part of me knew it wasn't true, but still-,"

"I am glad you came to find me. I am sorry that he treated you so." The old man sounded as if he were near to crying. "Had I known-,"

"I am here, now." The girl sighed heavily. "I wish I had come sooner."

"Does it hurt, much?"

The girl hissed as if in pain, and Hathel flinched in sympathy where he stood in the cold, dark kitchen.

"Forgive me, Talia," Gondien said. "Perhaps you should speak to Lord Elrond. He is skilled in medicine. Or Andreth, the maiden I have spoken of before. She is skilled in the healing arts as well."

So that was her name. "_Talia_," Hathel murmured, unaware that he had spoken her name aloud until Gondien shifted in the other room and lifted his voice, "Master Hathel?"

"Ah, yes, Master Gondien," Hathel choked, coughing as he hurried into the room where the two shadows had become clearer.

Gondien sat up, smiling in greeting, but his daughter, Talia, sat back, her face half shielded by the cascade of her glistening hair.

"I will set the fire going for you," he said, and turned toward the simmering fire, he squatted down, and set first one piece of wood, and then the other.

"Master Hathel is a skilled stonemason as was his father before him," Gondien said. "He is a trusted aid to Lord Círdan."

"Indeed," Talia said, and Hathel half turned to offer the girl a smile and nod.

In the growing light from the fire, her face was becoming clearer, though half was still veiled by her hair. By the Valar, she was lovely. How much more lovely would she be, if she let him see the rest of her face?

"You have come to Mithlond to visit your father, Mistress?" he asked, by way of trying to make conversation.

"Yes," she returned.

"And where have you lived before now?"

"In the forest, some distance away," she said. "With my- husband."

"Oh." Hathel smiled and nodded, though a weight settled in his stomach at her last words.

"Do not speak that word, Talia," Gondien said, his voice heavy as his hand reached out, and took the girl's small hand. "You may have been his wife, but Derk was no-,"

"Master Gondien!"

Andreth's voice, bright with greeting, interrupted his words as the door burst open, letting in light as well as cold. Talia looked up suddenly, and for a moment, Hathel saw the whole of her face, but- Hathel's heart clenched in a fist of indignity. Half of her face was covered in bruises! New, bright purple bruises as well as aging yellowed bruises in various stages of healing. Someone had struck her, viciously, and many times! What sort of man-

"Oh," Andreth breathed, her voice fraught with sympathy. She had noticed the bruises as well.

"He was no _husband _to you, my daughter," Gondien finished, before turning to Andreth with a smile, and rising to his shaking legs.

"Andreth," he greeted, taking the maiden's hand. "This is my daughter, Talia. She has only this day come to see me."

"Good day to you, Mistress Talia," Andreth greeted, stepping forward to press the girl's hand.

"Talia, this is the maiden who knows some of medicine, and can treat your injuries."

"I would be happy to do so," Andreth said softly, "if you would permit me."

Talia smiled. "That would be most kind of you, my lady."

She shot a glance at her father, then at Hathel where he still knelt beside the hearth. Her eyes studied him for a long moment before her gaze dropped.

"The man to whom I was wed mistreated me terribly," she murmured. "I only recently escaped him and came here, hoping to find my father, and hoping he would still accept me despite-,"

"We all accept you, mistress," Hathel said, surprised at the strength in his words, and the boldness. He rose, dusting his hands upon his breeches. "And I promise you, as long as I live, no more harm will come to you. That is my solemn pledge to you."

Silence fell. The girl Talia looked up at him as one stunned, and while Gondien and Andreth remained silent, they smiled, and traded a quiet look.

At last Talia broke the silence, rising to her feet. "Th- thank you, sir," she said. A tentative, but sweet smile touched her lips.

Despite her bruises, she was indeed, truly beautiful.

Hathel found himself smiling in return.


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Maglor's steps were firm and long as he strode along through the wintry forest, his breath a soft cloud before him as he walked. The air was cold, but not bitterly and there was a sweetness to it, the faintest suggestion that spring was not far away. Here and there, through the trees, a gentle symphony of dropping water reached his ears as melting snow dripped from melting icicles, and the yet bare branches of the trees. He was not far from the forest road that led to Mithlond, and through the trees, he could see small clusters of people, mortals, upon the road, an unusual number, trudging along in the direction of the elven haven. Here and there a horse bore a rider, but most of the mortals walked.

Maglor drew in a breath. Perhaps one would be kind enough to deliver his messages.

He started forward paused, then turned his head, stooping as a smile came to his face. Beside him, through the snow, peeked the brave heads of a small cluster of flowers. The first he had seen this year. Tindómiel they were called, little flowers delicate and white beneath the sunlight, but that gleamed silver beneath the light of the stars. They were beginning to come back.

"Forgive me, I pray," he said, speaking to the little plant, "If I take some few of your blossoms?"

Gently, he plucked two of the blossoms, and rose again, studying the little flowers as he strode along. But then pausing beside a rough, moss-covered stone, Maglor shrugged off his pack, and set it beside the stone in the dampening snow as he set a piece of rough bark paper folded carefully. Then fishing out a small clay bottle of ink and a battered little feather quill from a pocket separate from the main pack where he cradled his treasured harp, he carefully uncorked the ink bottle, and dipped in the feather, scratched a single word on the outer fold of the parchment.

Carefully recorking the bottle, he dropped it and his quill back into his pack. The remaining two flowers he tucked into his belt before stepping forward again, quietly through the trees.

The last of the trees beside the road parted, and Maglor stood in the open, quietly studying the slowly moving group. Families, he noted, likely of the same kindred, for their hair was all the color of straw or sand, and of the men, some of them were clad in the battered uniforms they must have worn in the war. There were women as well as children, young as well as old.

One small family was passing near him. The man, tall and broad-shouldered with a youthful, sand colored beard, wore a battered uniform, and his wife held his hand beside him, a thick braid the color of new straw hanging over her shoulder. The pair did not seem much older than Andreth, and they had but one child, a little girl of perhaps five years, perched upon her father's shoulders. Maglor could not tell the child's hair color, for she wore a knitted cap of bright blue. The little girl's eyes danced all around; clearly she saw this journey as some marvelous adventure. And when her eyes alighted upon Maglor, standing still as a young tree beside the pathway, her eyes brightened.

"Atta! Nana!" the child cried, pointing a small hand. The little girl spoke Taliska. These then, with their light hair, must be of the folk of Hador. "An elf! I see an elf! At last! He is very handsome. But see his ears! How funny they look!"

"Himina!" the child's mother scolded. The young mother turned apologetic eyes upon Maglor, seeming to notice him for the first time.

"For- forgive her, my- lord." The young mother struggled with the elven tongue. "She is- but a- child."

"There is no need for apology," Maglor said in their own tongue with a smile and nod. The young husband and wife smiled at this, and traded a glance.

"Pray my lord," the young woman's husband said, as the pair drew to a stop "Are we nearing the haven called _Mithlond_?"

"Indeed." Maglor pointed. "It is less than a day's journey for you now."

The pair smiled at this, and exchanged another hopeful glance.

Maglor looked about, at their kinfolk already past, and those yet coming. "Indulge me, young ones," he said, his hand spreading to indicate the caravan of mortals. "I have watched your group coming along this way toward the Grey Havens for some time. I see your camp fires at night, and the long trail of your caravan in the day. But it is late winter, and a time not customary for so much travel. Why-,"

The father smiled. "Our people have been summoned."

Maglor tipped his head. "By-,"

"By the great herald of the gods," the young woman answered, her voice reverent. Her hand reached out, and touched her husband's arm. "Eönwë himself."

"I fought in the great war not long past," the man explained. "I served under the noble elf lord Elros. Do you know him?"

Maglor grinned at this. "Indeed. I know the boy quite well," he said.

"And my husband fought most bravely," his wife answered. Her husband smiled, and took her hand in his, squeezing it.

"And for that," the young man continued, "we have been asked to journey with our people to the haven at Mithlond. The great Eönwë has promised us a new land, rich in all manner of things, waiting for us beyond the horizon. Lord Elros, so Lord Eönwë said, shall be our king."

"And we shall take a great white ship to go there!" the little girl added.

Maglor smiled at her enthusiasm.

"I am happy for you," he said, his words warm despite the deep pang he felt within his heart. What would it be like, to stand upon the deck of a ship heading westward, to feel the movement beneath him, the spray in his face, and bright hope, shining hope, in his heart. "I am not going to the haven myself, but I have friends who dwell there. Would I trouble you to ask that you take this message to the house of Círdan? The name of she for whom it is intended, is written upon the message."

The young father nodded, and accepted into his hands the folded piece of parchment Maglor held out to him. "It would be our honor," he said, and at his side, his wife smiled, and nodded as well.

My name is Maht, and this is my wife, Aiwin, and our child, Himina."

Maglor nodded at this, and clasped the young father's forearm in greeting before their arms parted.

"I am Lin-," Maglor stopped himself, and drew in a breath. "My name is Maglor."

Both husband and wife stiffened slightly at this. They recognized his name. But only a moment later, the wife smile, and drew in a sigh. "As my husband said, it will be our honor, my lord."

"We shall see done that which you ask us," her husband answered.

The little family began to turn to move on.

"Wait," Maglor said impulsively, and they turned back. "Here." He drew from his belt the two small flowers, and held them out, one up to the little girl who beamed as she took the blossom, and the other to the young wife, who smiled and blushed. "The first flowers of spring, for two fair ladies."

"Thank you, my lord," the young mother said.

"Thank _you_," Maglor said, swallowing at a lump in his throat as with a final smile, the young man and his family turned away, and continued down the road, Maglor's letter held safely in his hand.

…oOo…

Aelin smiled as she ran her hand over the soft, sheer fabric that rested upon he knees, watching the way the thin fabric seemed to catch in the light of the lamp beside her where she sat within the ladies' weaving chamber, listening to Firiel and Galadriel as they spoke of the virtues of the lengths of thin gossamer fabric they were examining.

Some distance away, the soft whisper of Andreth's weft threads as she slid her shuttle through them found her ears as the maiden worked at her loom. Her tapestry of the maiden whose features seemed a mingling of the lady Galadriel and her lord Celeborn, at least to Aelin's eyes, was nearly finished. Aelin looked over at Andreth, catching the mortal maiden's eye.

Andreth smiled, and Aelin returned it. Lord Elrond would be pleased, she thought. He had come to see Andreth as he would a sister of his own blood, and would treasure her gift forever.

"White is very sweet and innocent, and seemly for such an occasion," Galadriel murmured, and Aelin turned back.

"Ah, yes," Aelin cut in softly, so that Andreth could not hear, "but my lady, this green would so match her eyes."

"I doubt that her handsome lord will restrict his gaze to her eyes," Firiel cut in, her voice innocent, though her eyes twinkled with mischief.

Aelin put a hand to her mouth, and struggled not to giggle at the boldness in the old mortal lady's words, and at the blush that touched Lady Galadriel's cheeks.

"In truth," Firiel added, unruffled by her own words, "her favorite color is blue. And she does look lovely in it." The old mortal ran a hand gently over the length of sheer blue gossamer upon her own lap.

"How shall we overcome this impasse, my friends?" Galadriel queried.

Aelin studied the soft green length of cloth upon her own lap. This, she was certain, would complement Andreth the most, but she could see the reasoning of the other ladies as well. "What if we fashioned the garment out of a cloth that combines the virtues of all three colors?" she suggested at last.

Galadriel tipped her head. "A light bluish-green?" she asked.

Firiel sighed. "The color of the sea," she breathed, and she smiled even as a far away look touched her eyes. "It would be fitting. And she would be happy with the color, I am certain."

Galadriel smiled. "Then we are agreed?"

"What are you whispering about?"

The voice, unexpectedly near, caused Aelin's head to shoot up, seeing Andreth standing over them, a smile upon her face. Ah, indeed, the soft sounds of Andreth's work had ceased some few moments before, but Aelin had not heeded the change.

"This fabric-," Andreth wondered. "It is for-,"

The maiden's words choked to a stop, and her cheeks warmed with color, guessing now the reasons for their whispering. Taking the fabric up from Firiel's lap, the maiden ran her hand beneath it, seeing, as Aelin did, her palm and fingers easily through the cloth. "Oh," she smiled faintly, and a soft laugh parted her lips, though the color continued to climb into her cheeks.

At that moment, a soft knock sounded from the main door without the room, echoing through the main hall.

"I will get that," Andreth insisted, but Aelin was quick to rise.

"No, I will," she said, and touched a hand, gentle, but insistent, to Andreth's.

Andreth sighed, visibly relenting, and sank into the seat Aelin had vacated. She picked up the transparent green swath from the seat, working it nervously through her fingers as Galadriel, her eyes soft with understanding, reached forward, and squeezed her hand.

Aelin smiled and turned away to hurry out the door.

There were others in the house who could have gone to the door as well as she; there were other servants in the kitchens, and Lord Elrond was in his apothecary with the young mortal Talia, treating her fading injuries.

But she was the nearest, and secretly, Aelin was relieved to have a moment to her own thoughts, for the mingling of anticipation and uncertainty she saw in the maiden's eyes, she well remembered herself. For she too, had once been a betrothed maiden, her heart both frightened and eager at once. It had been so many years since her beloved fell in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, but even so, she remembered him as well as if they had parted but minutes before.

She sighed, her heart weighted as she recalled his face. His strong, beautiful face, before he had left her to fight his last battle upon these shores. She still remembered his last kiss, his last touch, the warm feel of his strong arms about her, the last night they had spent together, and the sweetness and secrets they had shared.

"_Thallon,_" she whispered to herself, his name sweet upon her tongue. Rarely did she speak his name aloud, but she was alone, and no others could hear her. "_Would that I could see you again. That we could know the joy we once knew. That I could bear your child-_,"

Again the knock sounded, and Aelin brushed a hand beneath her eye and quickened her pace, reaching the door, and drawing the latch back to meet a stranger's eyes.

A mortal man's, unknown to her, but not unfriendly. His hair was the color of wheat, and behind him, a step down, stood a woman with a thick braid of yellow hair hanging over one shoulder, holding upon her hip a little girl, wrapped in warm clothing. The child's eyes were wide, and her head thrown back as she took in the grandeur of the house; perhaps the largest she had ever seen. Aelin smiled at the child's open astonished face.

"This is-," the man spoke slowly, with a thick accent. "This is the house of the mighty Círdan, the skilful builder of ships?"

Beyond the man's shoulder, farther out upon the white snowy field between the house and the distant trees, Aelin could see a modest cluster of tents. A small fire had sprung up in the midst of the circled tents, and Aelin could see the silhouettes of other mortals, alike in appearance to these three, moving about in the sparse light the fire made. This little family, it seemed, had come with their kinfolk.

Aelin's heart caught upon a beat. Then they were coming already, the Edain, summoned by Eönwë.

"Yes, my young sir," she managed to answer despite the quickening of her heart.

The young man smiled through his youthful beard. ""I am Maht, of the house of Hador," he said. "I was bidden to give you this. The word, I cannot read. You will, I pray, give it to the one for whom it is meant."

The young mortal held out a folded piece of bark parchment, and Aelin's eyes widened at her own name upon the outer fold.

"Yes, thank you, it seems to be for- me." She took the parchment in her hands, and turned it over. From whom had it come? Elros? But it was not his writing.

"I am glad." The young man smiled, and bowed his head. "Does the great lord, Elros, dwell here, that our chief may speak to him?"

"Elros is not here," Aelin said, but added quickly as the man's face began to fall, "but she to whom he is betrothed, is here. If you will go and bring your chief, I shall tell her you have come, and she and your chief may speak one to another."

The young man's smile broadened. "She who will be our- our _queen_?"

Aelin smiled. "Yes," she answered, to which the young man turned and spoke quickly to his wife in a tongue Aelin could not understand. But the young woman smiled broadly at this, and nodded with energy. Her husband turned back.

"We will do as you ask us." The young man grinned, hopeful once again. "We will return to our people, now, and fetch back our chief. Farewell."

With a final smile and bow of his head, the man and his wife and child, turned and started away toward the distant fire.

Slowly, Aelin shut the door, and studied the parchment again. It was rough, fashioned as by one who had few worldly means, yet with great skill as well. Who could-

And then the understanding came, and Aelin's lips tightened. Her fingers twitched, suddenly wanting to crumple the paper in her fist. Her eyes darted to a nearby lamp, and she envisioned herself holding the parchment to the flame until it caught, and was entirely consumed before she even read the contents of the letter.

She stopped herself, though, curiosity, or perhaps a faint hint of pity, staying her hand. Drawing in a breath, she turned the parchment over, unfolded it carefully, and began to read as she walked, though slowly, back toward the weaving room and to Andreth.

…oOo…

The familiar smells of his apothecary swirled in the air around Elrond and around Aelin where she stood before him, her hands clasped tightly as she waited for him to speak. Beyond her shoulder, through the open door of the room, Elrond could hear Andreth's voice out in the main hall. She was bidding farewell to the chieftain of the small group that had only just come of the people of Hador. Elrond smiled, pride swelling in his heart at how graciously she had received the man, his wife, and his eldest son when they had come to Cirdan's house bowing to her as if she were already the queen they saw her to be. She even knew a smattering of Taliska, which had amazed Elrond, and pleased the chieftan's small contingent. Andreth was, Elrond realized, Elros' perfect match, raised up by the Valar to this very purpose, it seemed. She would make a marvelous queen.

The great door shut, and the chieftain and his kin were gone. Elrond dropped his face again to the letter in his hand and ran a hand over his mouth, reading the words one more time, though he had read them several times already.

_My lady,_ _Aelin,_ the first words read, _I will not mince words. I know of your dislike, even hatred of me. I do not blame you. Indeed I cannot. Nor do I feel worthy even of asking your forgiveness. For I know there is nothing I can ever do, to earn it. But I do wish to ask of you a request. I know you have no affection for me, but I do know that you and I both care dearly for two fine young ones who are to be wed soon, and I hoped to request of you some help in preparing a gift that I wish to give to Elros and Andreth. I do not ask you to trust me, nor to become my friend, but I do wish to ask that we form a temporary alliance, for the good of those dear to us. Will you agree to meet me tomorrow evening an hour before sunset in the forest where we have met, twice before already? My apologies that I cannot come to you. You know my dislike of being in cities, and near the dwellings of honorable elves. Even so, the gift I have prepared for them, is too large to bring._

_I will wait for you for an hour. If you have not come in that time, I will understand that you have declined my request, and I will depart without bitterness. Yet, my lady, I hope you will come._

_If you are willing to meet me, but to not wish to come alone, I pray you share this letter with the eldest of Eärendil's sons, and bid him to come with you. I would be pleased to see him._

_Maglor son of Fëanor_

Elrond looked up and spoke at last. "You shared this with me because you fear him?"

Aelin shook her head. "No, I do not fear him, but-,"

She sighed. "What in all of Arda, am I to make of this? Why me? Why did he not address the letter to you, if he is already willing to see you again, and avoid the unpleasantness he knows that _I_ would bring?"

Elrond lifted his shoulders, and let them fall, helpless. "I cannot begin to say."

Aelin drew in a deep breath, and sat back to lift her eyes to the flickering candles upon the wall. What did Maglor want of her, and why her? Elrond's eyes told her well enough that he could not begin to guess any more than she could.

"In any case," Aelin said, and Elrond lifted his head, his eyes still deep in thought. "Will you come with me?"

The young, dark-haired elf smiled, and at last Elrond nodded. "Of course."

…oOo…

Elros sat upon the steps of Hathel's house, his elbows upon his knees as he studied the palms of his hands, roughened from the work he had been doing all day.

Lifting his head, he studied the nearly finished lighthouse with a weary, but contented smile. In not many weeks, days perhaps, it would be completed. Then the work would move on to some other task in the building of this fair haven. Construction had slowed somewhat, for Círdan himself, and many of his men had turned instead to the building of many ships down upon the shores of the bay in the wide boathouses there. Elegant white boats that would carry Elros and his people across the sea to Númenor, the land where he would be king. Already a number already finished, waited at anchor, bobbing silently like so many swans, upon the edge of the water beneath the light of the stars that were slowly blinking into life one by one, above his head.

Elros swallowed stiffly at that thought. _I will be- king_, he thought, elated and sobered at once. Would he be a good one? Would he be benevolent, and good to his people, or would he be a tyrant?

The faithful of the Edain, summoned by Eönwë himself would come, and when the ships were completed, he and Andreth, and their people would sail away from these shores to a land they had never seen before. He smiled at the thought. At least in the waking world.

"Lord Elros?"

Behind him, the door creaked open, and Hathel stepped out, holding a bowl of something steaming, the handle of a wooden spoon sticking up. A welcome meaty scent rose up, causing Elros' mouth to water.

"Are you hungry?"

"Thank you," he said, accepting the thick stew Hathel handed him.

He dipped the spoon into the savory mixture of potatoes and meat, and took a bite. Delicious. Sigil no doubt had made it. Though his mind was slow, the man was an excellent cook, and since the three had agreed to share a house for the weeks before Elros' wedding, both Elros and Hathel had grown to appreciate Sigil's cooking.

"You won't come in?" Hathel asked, dropping down on the stoop beside him. "It is cold; even for an elf I'll wager."

Elros grinned over at the young mortal, remembering the near bitter rivalry they once had shared in their competition for Andreth's affections. Much had changed since those days, including his own opinion of the young mortal. Hathel was honest and true, and his heart was good.

"I am not too cold," Elros said, taking another bite, savoring the hearty meat as he chewed it. "And sitting beneath the stars helps me to think."

Hathel inhaled, drawing in a deep breath of the cold night air before expelling it in a cloud of mist.

"I can imagine that you have much to think of," Hathel said. And with the tone with which the young mortal spoke, Elros could not help but smile. He glanced sidelong at the young mortal, who grinned, and reached out, clapping his shoulder as the two men chuckle together.

Their laughter though, was cut off by the soft chatter of women's voices and both men looked up to see two young women coming toward them along the street, their arms linked like young girls. One of them bore an elven lamp in her hand that gave off a soft glow. Elros' heart gave a painful throb and his blood began to quicken at the sight of his own lady, Andreth, in whose hand the elven lamp swung, its gentle light caressing the beauty of her face, and her form, wrapped in a warm cloak. He set his half eaten bowl of stew upon the stoop beside him, and rose to his feet.

At his side, Hathel stirred and rose as well.

Gondien's dark haired daughter, Talia, turned her face from Andreth to take in the two men, and Elros noted her eyes gleaming in the light of Andreth's lamp as her gaze lingered long upon Hathel.

She was a pretty girl, her face almost entirely healed of the bruises that had once marred it, thanks to Andreth's gentle care, and Elrond's skills. Naught but a small scar remained upon her jaw, which would probably never go away, yet certainly did not detract from the smile that brightened her face.

"Good sirs," Andreth was the first to speak. "We are well met." Her eyes found and fixed on Elros, her gaze dancing at the sight of him. "Especially you, my lord. There is much of which I wish to speak, with you."

Elros grinned, feeling his blood stir as he studied her face in the soft light her lamp cast, and her hair, unbound and spilling about her cloaked form like a cascade of russet and gold. In his eyes, she was already a queen. Elros bowed his head. "I am at your disposal, my lady," he said.

"Master Hathel," Talia asked, her voice a little breathless as she spoke, "now that Lady Andreth is occupied with other duties, would you do me the honor of escorting me the rest of the way to my father's home?"

"It would be my honor, mistress," Hathel offered in a quiet voice as he stepped down. Talia took his proffered arm.

"Take the lamp," Andreth offered, pressing the handle of the softly glowing lamp into Talia's hands. "I do not need it, now that I am with Elros."

"Thank you, my lady. I will make sure to return it," Talia said, and Hathel spoke his thanks with a gentle smile over Talia's head before the two mortals turned away, walking side by side, Talia's arm looped through Hathel's, away into the silver shadows of the night.

Elros turned to Andreth, drinking in the sight of her face; just as lovely beneath the starlight as in the light of the lamp. Her cloak had fallen open for she no longer clutched it so tightly, and she wore a white linen gown beneath; the gown, he noted, that she had worn the night he had first called her _Tindómiel_, when she had stood upon the topmost step that led down to the shore, her form slender and beguiling, and fairly glowing beneath the moonlight, the wind fluttering about her, making her appear as a sea bird, ready to take to the air, and fly away. He had not wanted her to do so then, and as he studied the light in her eyes, he could see that she had no wish to fly anywhere without him.

Now that they were alone, Elros felt his desire for her stirring almost painfully, and he had to look away for a long moment. There was a chill in the night air, but he dared not ask her in. Sigil was within, but the man slept like a stone once he fell asleep, and would not serve as a trusty chaperone.

"Now, my lady," he said, his tones softening as he took a step toward her, and turned again to drink her in with his eyes. His blood thickened at the visible quickening of her breath, easy to see now that her cloak had fallen open. _Ai, but her body was perfect_._ How soft she would be_-

He cleared his throat. "What did you wish of me?"

To this, Andreth smiled, and stepped forward, finding his hands. Hers were cold, and Elros clutched them tightly, wishing to warm them. He bent his head to kiss her, but Andreth withdrew, her eyes begging forgiveness. Elros smiled, easily granting it.

"Spring is drawing near," she murmured. Her voice told him, in its softened tones, that something had made her shy. Elros too stepped back a pace, respecting her girlish uncertainty, though as he moved to withdraw his hands, Andreth's tightened, and would not let him go. Elros relaxed his arms, happy to let his hands remain imprisoned within her own.

"It is," he agreed.

Andreth dropped her eyes, her cheeks blushing beneath a cascade of hair that fell, veiling part of her face from him.

_"Tindómiel?" _he gently pleaded as he lifted a hand, and brushed the hair away from her face, letting his fingers linger long against the soft, fair skin of her jaw before drawing back again, and finding her own small hand. "What is it?"

She lifted her eyes, bright and soulful, and achingly alluring.

"They are beginning to come," she said.

Elros paused. A part of him knew, in a moment, what she spoke of, but wanting to hear the words from her lips, he asked, "Who?"

Andreth drew in a ragged breath. "The faithful of the Edain. Those who will go with us to Westernesse, to Númenor. I have seen a small group, where they are encamped. Aelin told me of them, and I have spoken to their chief. They are a goodly folk, of the house of Hador." She leaned near, her voice dropping to a reverent whisper. "You will be their king, _Rau amin_." She ducked her eyes again. "And they will be your people."

A deep breath filled Elros lungs at this, and the weight of her words settled upon his heart. Andreth's hands tightened in his, strengthening him, and he drew in a breath. "_Our_ people," he corrected.

She lifted her eyes and smiled, a sweetly shy, tentative smile. Elros caught his breath, and closed his eyes. How he longed to pull her into his arms, capture her lips, and _devour_ them! But sensing her timidity, he held himself back.

"Will you-," she murmured. "Will you walk me home?"

"I will," he breathed. Elros drew back from her, and offered her his elbow as Hathel had for Talia.

"In truth, Tindómiel, I will do anything you wish of me."

She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, and eased close to him, her cheek pressing against his shoulder.

"Even fly?" she teased softly.

"Were you to bid me to fly, my beloved," he said, as their steps began, taking them back up the hill and toward Círdan's house, "I would find a way."


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42

...oOo...

Maglor sighed where he sat, cradled in the crook of a tree, high enough that he could see the sun dipping ever closer to the horizon far out on the ocean, and yet still near enough to the earth that he could see the ground beneath him without branches blocking his view entirely. The earth below was spotted with patches of snow, and of damp earth where sparse bits of grasses and new flowers were beginning to lift up their timid little heads. Early spring was here already. But Mistress Aelin was not.

The hour was nearly passed. She was not coming. Not that Maglor had not half expected such a thing. Perhaps he could have addressed the letter to Artanis, his kinswoman, Galadriel- but no. Maglor pushed the thought away. Not after what his father had done. She would surely have declined, and Maglor would not have blamed her. And any other serving woman of the household was entirely out of the question. The gentle mortal woman Firiel would likely have been willing, but it would have been unkind to ask such a favor as he wished, of the aging mortal woman. And Maglor did not wish for any other elves, more than already knew, to know of any of his hiding places. Since Aelin already knew, asking her to come was most practical. Except, of course, that she hated him.

He drew in a breath of chilled air and grasped a branch, rising to his feet. He had hoped for the wisdom of a woman's influence in the completion of the gift he had made for Elros and Andreth, but it appeared that he would not have it, now.

Gathering up the bear skin cloak, he shrugged it around his shoulders, and prepared to turn away in disappointment when a sound stopped him.

Maglor's heart jumped and he turned back, snatched at a small branch above his head to maintain his balance. The clop of a horse's hooves. A single horse. The lady Aelin had come, after all.

He swallowed, feeling a fist of trepidation grip his heart as he heard her voice from below, muffled through the trees, calling out his surname. "_Feanorion_?"

Despite his uncertainty, he leaped from the branch, down to another, and another, until with a soft squelch in the snow dampened earth, he alighted upon the ground. To his left, was the mouth of the hollow tree where he rested oft times in the warmer months, where he had given Elrond the athelas that had saved Andreth's hand. Before him, a white horse, a slender, noble looking mare, drew to a halt, two figures upon her back meeting Maglor's eyes.

"Mistress," Maglor said, nodding to Aelin, clad in soft brown, seated behind her darker clad escort.

"Eärendilion," he said, nodding to Elrond seated in front of her.

"Maglor Fëanorion," the elven woman said, remaining in her place upon the mare's back, behind Elrond. She sat like a queen, gracefully side saddle, though her eyes were not soft, but rather hard and distrustful. "What do you want?"

Her lips were pursed as she awaited his reply. Maglor swallowed stiffly.

"Your help," he said simply.

"With what?" she demanded, her words clipped she gestured a hand toward him. "I can see, from that bear skin, you can fend quite well for yourself."

Maglor shrugged his shoulders beneath the bearskin. "Yes, this old fellow- he was out in midwinter, looking for a meal. He thought I would suffice, and I, well, disagreed."

Before her in the saddle, Elrond chuckled, but said nothing otherwise. Aelin did not smile.

Maglor fixed his eyes upon the young elf lord, and smiled, grateful to see one kindly face. "Thank you for coming, _Seldo Titta_," he said.

"I am more than glad to do so, _Otorno_," Elrond returned with a bob of his head.

"I brought the boy Elrond along with me for protection," Aelin interjected.

Maglor turned back to Aelin, then dropped his eyes. "I am sorry you do not feel safe in my presence. I promise you, I do not intend-,"

"Not for _my_ protection," the lady said stiffly. "He is here for _yours_."

"Ah," Maglor returned. And could say no more.

Well he remembered, the first day he had met her, the knife blade in her hand, and the fury in her eyes. Not that he could condemn her, for he was indeed Fëanorion, the last living one, guilty of the vile kinslayings which his kindred had committed. There were many, Maglor knew, many more, not only this woman, who might justifiably take his life to avenge a fallen loved one. If she killed him, she would not be in the wrong.

"Now," Aelin clipped, her eyes flashing, "Do not mince words! What do you want, _Fëanorion_?" The word was spat at him like a slap in his face.

Maglor drew in a breath. "Your expertise," he returned.

One slender brow lifted sharply above her stern eyes. Elrond's own eyes showed curiosity, his jaw growing taut though he remained silent.

"Your feminine tact," Maglor added. "I lack such skill. You are the only woman, aside from Andreth, who knows to look for me, here. And I cannot ask her help."

Elrond remained silent, though Maglor could see the young elf was brimming with questions.

"In regards to this _gift _for her and Lord Elros, of which you spoke in your missive?" Aelin demanded. "If you wish for my _expertise_ as you say, I will need to see it. May I?"

"It is this way," Maglor said, pointing away through the trees. "It is not far, but for the trees, it would be visible from here."

With that, he leaped up, caught hold of a low branch, and pulled himself up into the tree, until he stood upon the low branch looking down upon the two elves and their horse.

"I have found this means of travel easier in the winter," he called down. "I need not slog through deep snow when I take to the trees. Nor do I leave so many tracks in-"

"Show us the way, Fëanorion," Aelin called, her voice impatient.

"Yes, madam."

Content that they could see him and follow him easily, Maglor turned and started away in the direction he wished them to follow, leaping lightly from one branch to another as below them, the mare's hooves thumped a drum beat over the sodden ground.

Not many minutes later, Maglor, slowed at last and grinned as his creation came into view, perched in the lower branches of a strong tree that rose in the center of an open clearing, the snow in patches across the open ground, rich dark earth peeking through.

His heart, as it did whenever he looked upon that which his own hands had fashioned, swelled anew with pride as he stopped, perched like a cat upon the branch where he stood, and caught a smaller branch above him as he turned and looked down upon the faces of the earthbound elves, his chest heaving, eagerly seeking for their expressions.

Below him, Elrond drew the mare to a halt at the edge of the clearing, and lifted his grey eyes to take in the little tree bound dwelling. Maglor was not disappointed, for the eyes of the young _Peredhel_ widened, and his mouth fell open in a soft circle.

Aelin's expression was no less astounded, where she sat behind her escort, and Maglor's grin widened as he leaped to the ground, turning to gaze up at the small, but elegant house that he had built into the very branches of the tree.

"You made this?" Aelin breathed, sliding gracefully, with Elrond's hand assisting her, from the back of the white mare, and gazing, as one enraptured, up at the smooth walls, and fluted windows that Maglor had worked at so painstakingly through the winter.

Without waiting for a response, the elven woman continued in a voice that had softened considerably, "May we go inside?"

"Of course," Maglor said, offering a gracious gesture of his hand toward the carven steps that began at the foot of the tree, and which curved around the trunk, climbing up to the door of the little tree bound dwelling.

Aelin and Elrond traded a look of wonder before the pair started up the steps, Maglor following behind, struggling to bridle the broad grin that wanted to claim his face. The door at the end of the steps, intricately carved and painstakingly polished, swung silently open beneath Aelin's fingers, admitting the two astonished elves, and their beaming host, into a small, but elegant sitting area. Empty as yet, but for a small unlit lantern that hung from the ceiling in the center of the room.

Aelin, her eyes glowing, turned about, taking in the room.

"This is your gift to them?" she breathed.

"I would like your advice on how to- furnish it. This, and the next chamber."

Turning, Aelin made her way through the next doorway that swung silently beneath her fingers, and stopped, her hands falling to her sides as her gaze moved from one end of the large room to the other. A soft sigh of approval escaped her lips, but no other noise.

Behind her, Elrond craned to see within, and Maglor stood back, grinning fully now, pleased with their awe.

At last, the elven woman moved into the room, making way for Elrond to enter as well, and Maglor behind him.

The room was large and high ceilinged, curved half way around the trunk of the tree that rose through the floor upon one side of the room. The high ceiling was a mingling of woven tree branches and fluted shingles, sloped to keep out any rain, or wind that wished to enter. Within the center of the chamber, upon a dais reached by three steps, stood Maglor's masterpiece, and, for now, the only furnishing in the room. A wide, and elegant bed. Four intricately carved posts supported a wooden frame, then rose high into the air set with braces that could uphold a canopy. The frame was yet bare, for it supported no mattress; no cushions or coverlets yet adorned it, yet the massive bed was still an impressive sight. How much more impressive the room would be, when it was finished.

"Blessed Valar," Aelin murmured, stepping further into the room, imagining, perhaps, the same image that Maglor fostered in his thoughts. Her footsteps echoed, almost reverently, in the hollow room.

"Is there any more?" she breathed.

Maglor sighed. "I did construct a stable, large enough for two horses, and a privy, some few steps away through the trees, and not many paces in the other direction, the stream that runs through these woods falls down a modest waterfall into a little pool, which, I think, would be pleasant in the spring and summer, so I fashioned some stone steps leading down to it. But this is all of the living space."

Aelin drew in another breath of air, and traded a look with Elrond. Until now, the Peredhel had remained silent, but Maglor could see amazement in Elrond's eyes.

"Your hands fashioned- all this, _Otorno_?" he asked at last, his words soft with wonder. "_All this_?"

"They did, _Seldo Titta_." Maglor returned, unable to keep the pleasure out of his voice as he rubbed his hands, remembering. The beauty of this little house, and their admiration for it, were worth the work, the aching hands, and the cold days and nights of exhausting labor. Even the time away from his beloved harp had been well worth it.

Aelin turned to Maglor. Her eyes were still guarded, but the animosity in her gaze had visibly faded. "You did all this- for them? For Elros and Andreth?"

"_Otorno_," Elrond said softly as he stepped toward the door, and ran his thumb over a small carving of a leaf; one of many that decorated the wood of the lintel, an imitation of a vine that arched over the doorway.

"What is it,_ Seldo Titta_?" Maglor returned, recalling, with a pang in his heart, when this young elf had been a child, and would come to him with a question.

"You know they won't be-," Elrond hesitated, and his voice fell. "Staying here much longer."

Aelin dropped her eyes.

"Not long after they wed, they will sail away." Elrond's expression grew heavy. "To the land the Valar are giving them."

"I know," Maglor said with a faint half smile. "But I want to do what little I can for them while they are yet here. When they are gone-," he heaved a ragged sigh. "I suppose Artanis and her lord might like it." He grinned tentatively as a new thought struck him. "Or you. You are not to marry soon, are you?"

Elrond dropped his eyes. "I fancy no maid yet living." His face grew thoughtful, his eyes deepening.

"Whether they stay in this dwelling for a month, or only one night, I will consider all the work worthwhile," Maglor said softly. "They are dear to me. Both of them."

"As they are to us," Aelin agreed, as she lifted her chin, her soft voice echoing in the still room.

A sigh escaped her, echoing in the stillness of the room. "This is like-," Aelin paused, her lips pursed in thought. "This is like a visible _song_, Fëanorion," she said at last, his surname no longer a blade upon her tongue.

"It is as fair as-," she swallowed, "your music. You have done a beautiful thing, for their sakes."

To this, Maglor's heart swelled. His vision blurred, and he dropped his eyes.

"I would be pleased to help your furnish it with lovely things," she finished.

The evil he had done, he knew he could never undo. The unjust wars he and his kin had waged in their foolish quest for his father's jewels he could not unfight. The slain he could not bring back. He knew it, and he knew Aelin knew it.

Even so, this goodly lady was willing to put aside her anger for the sakes of the two young lovers for whom they both cared. It was truly more than he deserved. At this thought, his throat thickened, and he was unable to speak, but for two choked words. "_Thank you_."

…oOo…

The light of the small candle in Hathel's sitting room made Elros squint as he held the small translation book before him, struggling to keep his eyes focused. Why could Andreth, despite her few years, speak better Taliska than he? Were it not for her- well, it was no question. She had won their hearts already.

Elros smiled as he remembered the vision of her face in the dim light of the hall, the feel of her in his arms before he had bidden her farewell earlier in the evening. He hoped her dreams were sweet.

A rapid patting at the door jerked him up in a moment though, the memory vanishing like mist, and alarm rising in his heart as beyond the wood of the door, he heard a woman's soft sob.

Jerking the door open, Elros' heart tightened in anxiety at the sight of Talia, her hair hanging in a disarrayed tangle about her shoulders. Despite the chill of the night, the lady did not even wear so much as a shawl about her shivering shoulders.

"Mistress Talia," he breathed. "Come in, I beg you."

She did as he bid her, shivering, the light shining off her tear streaked cheeks.

"Is Hathel here, my lord?" she choked.

"Talia?" Hathel's voice thick with worry sounded before Elros could even turn as the mortal, his hair tousled with sleep, came stumbling out of the sleeping chamber where the bunks of the three men were kept. The young mortal wore naught but sleeping breeches. His chest was bare, and a shadow of scruff darkened his usually clean shaven cheeks. Despite all this, Talia gasped at the sight of him and rushed to him, throwing her arms about his shoulders, her sobs wrenching forth like water over a broken dam.

Hathel stiffened at first at her boldness, but then sensing her need, his arms softened, and went around her.

"Talia," he choked. "What is wrong?"

"My father-," she began, but she could not continue.

"Your father's sick?" Sigil's thick voice wondered as the large man came staggering out into the light of Elros lamp, rubbing a fist into his eyes.

Hathel grasped her shoulders and pushed her back. "Master Gondien?" His eyes burned with concern. "He is sick? Hurt?"

"Mistress Talia, take me to him," Elros volunteered, his heart pounding hard. "I am not as skilled in medicine as my brother, but I will do what I can until my brother can come."

"No," Talia choked, stepping back, and taking in the faces of the three worried men. "There's nothing-," a ragged sob choked her. "There's nothing you can do for him. There is nothing anyone can do. He's-,"

Elros' heart grew heavy as the realization of what she was trying to say struck him. The doom- the gift of men.

"He was old-," Talia said. "That was all. He simply- From my room, I heard him stop breathing. I went to him, but I could not wake him. He is- Hathel, he is dead."

"Oh, Talia," Hathel mourned, his voice thick. And he gathered the weeping maiden again into his strong arms and bent his face over her head as she sobbed against his sturdy chest.


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43

…oOo…

Elrond released a soft, silent breath as the great door to Círdan's house fell shut behind him, shutting out the cool scent of young spring flowers that covered the wide grassland between Círdan's house and the distant forest like a rich, green carpet. He sighed, weary, and rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. The soft sounds of a harp, and of a sweet voice singing in accompaniment, wafted toward him from the weaving room, several paces down the hall.

Something intangible in the air told him that there were many people in the room from where the music was coming; mortals. Contingents of the Edain. From the small groups of the faithful, the houses of Bëor, Hador, Haleth, who were gathering in groups and clusters in the forests and meadows all about Mithlond, all summoned, so they said, by Lord Eönwë himself. Elrond wondered if his brother were part of the audience that sat in the ladies' weaving room listening, silent and enthralled to the fair voice and the harp of the mortal maiden who would be their queen.

"_Little sister_," he murmured, smiling, even as his heart within him grew heavy. Fairer in face, and in voice, than any elf maiden. _Any yet living_, Elrond added in his thoughts. His brother was blessed to have found her.

The little tree dwelling that Maglor had built for them in anticipation for their wedding night, was looking more elegant and comely every day. He had only just this evening, been carving an elegant wardrobe, in accordance with Aelin's suggestion, its latches, hinges and all, made only of wood, everything smooth and polished, and intricately carved. And while Aelin had busied herself with the bed, a canopy of silver silk, and the rich coverlets and pillows that adorned a downy mattress, Elrond had helped his once foster father, glad and honored for the work, for it occupied his mind, taking his thoughts away from the day, approaching ever closer, when his brother would sail, leaving him on these shores to watch the ship that bore Elros and his fair queen, carry them away from him and beyond the horizon.

Returning to the present, Elrond rallied, pushing away his own heavy thoughts, and shot a grin to Aelin who stood beside him, her eyes bright with the sweetness of the secret errand they had just completed. One of many over the past few weeks. Círdan, they had spoken to, explaining their long journeys into the forest, and the lady Galadriel and her lord, Celeborn. The three of them approved, but no others knew. And only Elrond and Aelin had gone to the little sylvan dwelling to help Maglor.

"Are you all right, my lord?" Aelin asked, drawing her cloak from her shoulders and draping it over her arm.

"I am," he assured her, smiling. But Aelin's own smile softened. She reached over and touched his elbow.

"I see both joy and sorrow in your eyes."

Elrond heaved a deep breath at this, and his smile eased.

"Am I so easy to read?" he asked. "I am sorry."

"Do not be sorry," Aelin insisted. "You, more than anyone, have right to feel such contrasting emotions."

He swallowed stiffly as Aelin, her eyes moist with compassion studied his face without speaking, the gentle strains of Andreth's harp and gentle voice echoing about them.

"I _am_ happy for them," he said at last. "I feel peace at his choice. I know the Valar have willed this. But I do not relish the thought of him- of her- I do not want to lose them. Not to Númenor, not to- to _death_." He stiffened at the word. "I have already lost so much."

"The Valar will uphold you, Elrond Eärendilion."

"As they have, you," he finished, a weak half grin touching his mouth.

"Yes," she sighed. "You know Andreth asked me to sail with them."

"I heard," he returned. "And I understand that you agreed."

Aelin nodded. "From their new country, I will sail on to the peace of Valinor. My time on these shores is ending, my young lord."

"And mine is beginning." Elrond dropped his eyes to his hands. "And what does life here have in store for me? What other griefs will I endure? I fear to think. Sometimes, the gift of Men seems so- so sweet, Mistress Aelin."

"But you chose right, as did Elros!" Aelin said, her eyes grown gently stern. "And the Valar will bless you. One day, you will be glad you chose as you did. You will have joys as well, my young lord. Joys so great, you cannot now comprehend them."

Elrond smiled at this.

"Aelin?"

From down the stairs that led to the upper level, the soft tread of boots found Elrond's ears, bringing Gil Galad with them.

The young king smiled at the two elves still near the door. "Aelin, Elrond," he greeted. "Where have you been?"

Aelin offered Elrond a hasty look of apology as she turned away from him.

"On an errand for Lord Cirdan," she said as she moved toward the dark haired elf. "Forgive our absence. But come with me, brother. Let us listen to Andreth."

She disappeared through the door into the weaving room, her arm looped through Gil Galad's, and Elrond was left alone.

He heaved a deep sigh, letting the sweet chords of Andreth's harp and her clear, sweet voice wash over him before he turned and moved through the doorway into the dimly lit library. He undid the lacings of his cloak as he inhaled deeply, relishing the sweet scent of the books; the pleasurable mingling of old leather, and parchment that lined the many shelves. He tossed his cloak over the back of a chair as he selected a tome from the shelf and studied it a moment. _Of the Crossing of the Helcaraxë_, it read. Frowning, he set it down. He was in the mood for something happier, and moved along the shelf, his hands trailing over the books before he picked up another. _Fëanor and the Making of the Silmarilli_, read the tooled lettering. Shaking his head, he set it back, and picked up one more, a smaller thinner volume. _Of the House of Bëor_, the silver lettering across the top read, and in smaller letters, _Of the Life of Saelind, Elf friend, Andreth daughter of Boromir_.

Elrond's jaw tightened. He would still be dwelling upon these shores when ancient, time faded books speaking of the noble deeds and life of_ Andreth Queen of Númenor_ sat upon dusty shelves in shadowed libraries. Releasing a ragged breath, he forced a grin upon his face, willing cheer into his heart, and settled himself in a cushioned armchair beside a low burning lamp, opened the book and with the soft music of Andreth's voice, and her harp floating gently through the air, he began to read.

…oOo…

"_You should go, now_."

"_Yes, I should_."

The soft words, whispered in the space between them, echoed in the dimly lit main hall of Círdan's house. The night was late, and the hall empty but for Andreth and Elros who stood together near the main door.

Despite their shared words, neither mortal maiden nor elf man moved. The wall beside the door was smooth, pressed against her back, Elros' brow resting against her own. In truth, she admitted to herself, she did not wish for him to go.

His breath felt warm and sweet against her face. Beneath her hands, the contours of his sinuous arms were strong and firm through the cloth of his sleeves. And as she ran her hands gently along his arms, marveling at the solid firmness of his muscles beneath the thin cloth, Elros' lips released a soft, almost inaudible groan, a mingling of pleasure and pleading. Her hands stopped moving, but she did not withdraw them. His own hands upon her hips were strong, yet gentle. They trembled a little, and she sensed his mighty restraint.

"Your music was beautiful, _Tindómiel_," he said. "I could see it in their faces tonight as they listened. They who will be our people, have great reverence for you already."

His voice softened. "_I have great reverence for you already_."

"I am glad," she whispered, feeling sweet longing pulsing through her body at his words. "And I am honored that my music pleased you." She lifted a hand slightly, and caught a lock of long dark hair where it hung over his shoulder against his chest. She twirled the lock around a finger before releasing it, and letting it fall again to his chest that rose and fell heavily with each breath. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_," he countered. "Watching your fingers move so deftly over the strings, hearing your voice, watching- _you_-" he hissed, his voice deepening. "It was- _intoxicating_."

Andreth felt a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She dared not lift her eyes as she murmured, "You are intoxicating, _Rau Amin_." The nearness of his mouth to her own was sweet agony for her, and surely was for him as well.

"Am I?" His voice was a soft, feral growl, sending shivers of pleasure over her skin. "Then I truly _should _go."

"Yes," she returned, her own voice breathless. "You should."

A moment passed. Elros did not draw back. He shifted his weight. His boots upon the floor whispered softly in the quiet. He eased a fraction nearer. "I do not want to go," he admitted.

"And I do not wish you to leave," she whispered.

"Bidding you farewell grows more difficult every day," he confessed, his breath washing her mouth, "I never thought nine months could pass so slowly."

"Nevertheless, you are very patient," she murmured.

To this, he leaned forward, letting his cheek rest against her own as he gently whispered near her ear, the words hissed through his teeth, his voice a gentle growl, "I assure you, lady, the anticipation is _very _sweet."

His words were a warm caress, and Andreth closed her eyes, breathing in deeply, drinking, and tasting the scent of him. Warm, musky, alluring. The feel of his jaw smooth, hard and warm, pressed against her cheek, his lips gently touching the lower corner of her ear. She drew in a sharp breath, feeling her body softening, weakness and warmth pulsing through her veins. But he was right; the anticipation _was _very sweet.

"And now, I surely _must_ go," he said, his sigh washing her face as his arms at last, released her, and he stepped back.

Without the nearness of his body warming her, the air seemed colder to Andreth, and she folded her arms against herself studying his face where he stood an arm's length away. She drew in a breath, and strength returned to her legs.

"You will return tomorrow, Elros?" she asked, stepping away from the smooth wall as he turned, and picked up his cloak from the side table, her Yule gift to him. "It is your begetting day, and Elrond's, and I do not wish it to pass, without seeing you."

"Of course," he said with a smile as he flung it smoothly about his broad shoulders. "I would not wish to be parted from my brother on our begetting day." He smiled roguishly. "And any excuse I can find to see you, I will take it."

He reached out, and gently touched warm fingers to her cheek, trails of sunlight tingling through her body from the point where he touched. The softness in his eyes melted her heart anew.

"Good night, my lady queen," he breathed.

"Good night, my lord king," she whispered in return. And with that, a sweet night wind scented with the aroma of new flowers, brushed over her momentarily as the door opened and shut, and then he was gone.

Andreth stepped forward and touched a hand to the door, leaning her brow against the cool, smooth wood. "Elros," she breathed, and a ragged sigh escaped her.

Another ragged sigh echoed her own to her right, and Andreth drew back, a little startled. She had thought she was alone. She turned, looking through the doors into the library, and then smiled to see Elrond, reclined in a soft chair, a book splayed open upon his chest, and his eyes gazing unfocused at the ceiling. He was sound asleep.

Her smile broadened when she saw the lettering upon the front of the small tome splayed upon his chest. He had been reading, of all the world, about her ancient namesake.

"Elrond," she grinned. He was asleep, and she knew he could not hear her words, but she said them anyway. "Dear brother. Thank you. Thank you for accepting his choice. I know it has not been easy."

She touched a hand to his cheek, and he stirred faintly, but did not awaken.

"I have a gift for you, dearest brother. I know it cannot replace Elros, but-"

Sighing, Andreth clasped her hands, and turned away.

…oOo…

"Elrond?"

A soft, feminine voice whispered through his dreams, and Elrond stirred. A slender hand gripped his shoulder, jostling it.

"Wha-?" he whispered.

"Elrond, wake up."

"Andreth?" he croaked, blinking his eyes as they came into focus, seeing, instead of the soft face of the silver-haired elf maid of his dreams, Andreth's face hovering above him, her soft, honey brown hair spilling in loose waves about her slim shoulders.

"I have something to give you," she whispered in the quiet darkness of the library where he found himself. Ah. He remembered now. He had fallen asleep, reading. Reading about the maiden who hovered over him, prodding him gently to wakefulness. No, not her, her namesake.

Looking down at himself, he noted the book still splayed on his chest.

"It isn't yet dawn," he chuckled, and swallowed, looking up at her again. "Indeed, it must be the middle of the night."

"I couldn't wait. Come, Elrond."

She drew back, and he saw at last, the wide roll of heavy fabric on the table behind her.

"Andreth!" he said, sitting suddenly up, anticipation banishing sleepiness to the remotest corners of his mind. "Your tapestry-?"

"_Your_ tapestry, now." She moved to the table, and touched a hand to the roll of cloth. "Come and see it."

Elrond drew in a ragged breath, and looked at her. Andreth's eyes were bright, and she bit her bottom lip.

"Unroll it," she said, beaming like Maglor had been the first time he had shown him and Aelin the little tree bound dwelling he had made for Andreth, and Elros. "Look at it."

Looking down now, at the rolled tapestry, he put out a hand, hesitated, then touched the cloth, and began to unroll it over the table.

Slowly, the maiden upon the cloth, her image, and the greenery behind her, framed in a square of golden, twining vines, came into view. Her shoulders and body were turned slightly away from him, but her face, beautiful and delicately shaped, gazed directly out at him through the tapestry, a smile upon her lips as if she had only just turned at the sight of him, and was gladdened by what she saw. Silver hair spilled over the slender lines of her throat and her delicate, narrow shoulders, her shapely form clad in a gown of soft white. One hand held within it a small blue flower. The other extended to her side as if she were in the act of reaching for something, a low tree branch, or the handrail of a staircase she was descending- he could not say.

The maiden upon the tapestry, though not alive, stirred a warmth in his blood nothing else ever had. Her face, her eyes, her form- all that was in the image combined to stir something in his soul that was akin to a long forgotten memory, but could not be, for he'd never seen the young woman in his life.

"_Cele_-," he murmured, before his voice stopped. What was he about to say? Her name? Surely such a maiden would have a name that started with _Silver-_ It would not be right, any other way.

"Andreth," he sighed, swallowing stiffly as he thought on the hours, the days of work that had gone into this beautiful image. "You have outdone yourself. She's beautiful." He turned to the mortal maiden who stood by, just as lovely in her own way as the image upon the cloth.

"Thank you, little sister," he said, his throat thickening.

"You are welcome." Andreth smiled, and reached for his hand, squeezing it. "Happy begetting day, older brother," she breathed.

...oOo...

Wrapped in his pelt of warped and ragged skins, Lang squatted upon a low moss covered rock, studying his handiwork that lay scattered across the wasted clearing before him. The black ragged piles of charred wood that had stood out starkly against the white snow during the winter, had faded into the dark dampened earth, blades of young green grass growing up among the once blackened ruins.

Lang scowled. He had changed nothing. Elros' life was no worse than before. What had been lost, but a few meaningless buildings? The elf had simply returned to Mithlond, and probably to that- woman of his. And he still lived.

To this thought, Lang uttered a curse, and spat on the ground. He should remedy that. And may that wretched elf who had picked him up by the throat and shoved him against a tree, rot in the abyss, along with his foolish threat.

_"Go far away," the elf had snarled between his teeth as he had held Lang by his throat, pressed to the rough bark of a tree, several inches off the ground. "Never return. If you do, if you try to hurt my boy, if you try to hurt his bride, if you try to hurt any child of the All Father again, the wrath of the Valar will find you. That I promise_."

Lang scoffed at the memory. Did the point eared fool think mere words could frighten him?

Lang snatched up a bow at his side, and a wrinkled leather quiver of newly fashioned arrows, tipped with wickedly sharp heads of black obsidian. Drawing both bow and quiver onto his shoulders, he staggered to his feet, and lastly, snatched up a small knife at his side. The haft was wrapped thickly in leather, the blade fashioned of black obsidian chipped fine, to a razor's edge.

Lang looked down, studying the blade of shiny black stone, Lang sneered at his face, reflected in the glass smooth surface of the gleaming blade. His heart tightened into a fist around the haft as he imagined the length of it soaked and dripping in rich, red, elven blood.

With that thought, Lang uttered a low chuckled. He shoved the blade into his belt, turned, and stalked away into the shadows of the forest, his feet turned southward, toward Mithlond.


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44

Andreth woke slowly, opening her eyes, and contemplating the soft fluttering movement of the gossamer canopy above her. The Valar, it seemed, had felt it wise to end her shared dreams with Elros long ago; but even so, the night visions of her sleeping hours were still pleasant. There were few sad thoughts, if any to trouble her, during the day or night, and Andreth's heart was light.

A smile touched her lips as a soft tap as of a small stone, struck the window of her balcony, fell to the stone, clattered and then lay still. She sat up, and turned her head, looking in the direction of the noise as another tap struck the glass.

Laughing to herself, Andreth rose, caught up her dressing robe, and cast it about herself as she moved to the large glass doors, and brushed aside the curtain. Beyond, the world was bathed in soft, light blue, streaks of pink shooting up into the sky beyond the distant horizon. As she watched, a tiny stone came hurtling up over the balcony railing to tap lightly against the glass in front of her.

She grasped the latch of the glass door, and drew it open, stepping out onto the balcony, the stone cool against her bare feet. "Elros!" she called softly. "I am here!"

She moved to the railing, the metal chilled beneath her hands in the predawn, and smiled down upon the face of her betrothed, where he balanced upon the ridge pole of the stables. In his left hand, he clutched a handful of small pebbles, and his right held another, ready to toss it up. But as she appeared his hand dropped, the small rocks tumbling from his hand and striking the roof of the stable like so many drops of rain.

"Andreth!" he called up to her, his voice glad, but soft.

"Mercy, my lord," she laughed. "What are you doing?"

"I wanted to wish you a fair morning," he said.

She dropped to her knees, gazing down at him through the bars of her railing. "Fair morning, my lord," she said, reaching a hand through.

Elros smile softened. He stepped near, and reached up, though his fingertips barely brushed her own.

"And happy begetting day," she added. "I've given Elrond his gift already. I have not yet given you, yours."

"What do you have for me?" he asked.

"Come up," she urged, "I will show-" her words cut short as he did immediately as she bid him, leaping lightly up, and catching two of the bars. With the grace of a cat, he hoisted himself up, scrambling until he straddled the railing, then hopped over.

In a moment, Andreth was in his arms, warmed by his solid strength. Her head tucked beneath his chin, she could hear the quickened thumping of his heart.

"_Rau Amin_," she breathed, losing herself in the feel of his strong, yet tender embrace. "_I_ am not your gift. It will be a few weeks yet-"

"I know, but you are cold, my _Tindómiel,_" Elros murmured sighed as his warm hands hand ran over the curves of her shoulders. To this, Andreth purred softly, arching her back to press more firmly into him as his hands ran gently down to the small of her back before trailing slowly up again.

"Summer is nearly upon us," he breathed into her ear, "but still the mornings can be chill. You should not be out, clad as you are."

"Very well," she conceded. "But come inside with me. Surely you are a little cold yourself. I want to show you your gift."

He made a soft sound in his throat, a faint hint of an eager growl that spoke his willingness to obey, and he moved as if he would, but then Elros stopped himself, and drew back, stiffening a little.

"I can't," he said, and his hands grasped her shoulders as he pushed himself back. The reluctance was obvious in his voice, and on his face. "That is- I shouldn't."

"Oh," she breathed softly and dropped her eyes. Andreth stepped back, letting his hands fall from her shoulders as she waited for him to speak.

He stepped even further away from her, and she lifted her eyes, looking at him again as one hand came up, and touched the railing, his fingers running over it as if testing the texture of the metal.

A warm blush touched his face. "These past months since returning from Firiel's, I've found tasks to busy myself during all my waking hours when I am not helping Lord Círdan," he said.

He looked down again, running a thumb over a miniscule imperfection in the metal, his gaze now fixed upon that.

"So I have heard," she breathed, a gentle smile touching her lips. "Chopping and carrying wood for those who cannot do it themselves, like widows, or poor dear Gondien-," Andreth sighed a ragged breath, "and now his daughter Talia, though Hathel helps her much, now that her father is gone-,"

"Even so," Elros paused and looked up, his grey eyes deepening with adoration. The sinews of his jaw tightened, and his breath quickened. "You are ever in my thoughts, in my dreams. Every day, I love you more, and every day," he sighed, and his eyes softened, "I- _want _you more. So much, that being with you now is an agony so sweet, that I cannot give it words."

As he studied the railing in silence now, Andreth drew in a breath. "I understand," she said.

She took a faint, tentative step toward him, and reached out, resting her own hand upon the smooth, cool railing near his.

"I feel as you do."

Elros looked at her, his eyes filled with longing. Upon the railing his hand slid shyly toward her own. "Our wedding draws nearer every day, but you are not yet mine, and-,"

In that moment, the tall window behind her drew open so unexpectedly, that Andreth jumped and started, before Firiel's small, sparse form stepped out on the balcony, shuffling between the betrothed couple with such deliberation, that both Elros and Andreth could not help but chuckle as they traded a merry glance.

"Oh, but this morning is a bit cold for spring, do you not think?" she gasped, pulling a woven shawl more tightly about her shoulders as she looked out toward the approaching dawn.

"Yes, a bit, madam," Elros agreed with her.

"Well, then both of you, come in," the aged mortal said. "Come, my friend, Elros. You would not be unwilling to guide an old woman down the stairs to breakfast, would you?"

"Of course not," Elros said, pushing away from the railing, and gallantly offering the old woman his arm as he traded a silent smile with Andreth.

Firiel gladly took it. And with her arm looped through Elros' turned him away from the mortal maiden, and through the balcony door.

Andreth followed after, several paces, feeling somewhat sheepish as Firiel drew her betrothed through the warm shadows of her bed chamber, directly toward the door that stood open.

"I- I will be a few minutes," Andreth called as the elf man and mortal woman moved through the door and out into the hall.

"Very well," Firiel called merrily before she pulled the door firmly closed behind her.

Andreth studied the closed door with a merry grin, before she turned away, and with a light heart, hurried across the floor to the door of her bathing chamber.

...oOo...

The sun beaming down upon her where she sat upon the veranda with Elros and their small group, felt warm and comforting, and Andreth's heart beat contentedly within her. Nothing was wrong on this fair day, her dear one's begetting day, when he reached his nintieth year. Andreth smiled at the thought. Her beloved, though he did not look it, was older than Firiel; than her grandparents would have been, had they lived.

She turned, offering a merry glance to Elros as she contemplated the thought, but then paused, her smile fading a little as she studied him.

His eyes were upon a little bird, a sparrow, that had alighted upon the railing of the veranda, and was hopping now over the entwining vines of tindómiel. How fine he looked, she thought, the dark blue jerkin she had woven and fashioned for him, overlaying his tunic of a lighter hue. Her gift fit him perfectly, and his face had shown great pleasure when she had presented it to him. She had been pleased as well, for all morning, it had given her the excuse to touch him, testing the cloth to see that it fit him as it should. She loved the feel of the fabric beneath her hands, and Andreth reached over now, her fingers pretending to touch at a stray thread upon his chest, though she only wished to touch him. She could feel the beat of his heart beneath her hand.

As she teased the nonexistent thread, Elros hand lifted, and covered her own. Andreth lifted her eyes, and smiled, seeing a playful, teasing look in his eyes.

"Ah, look at that," Firiel sighed in appreciation, and Andreth turned, seeing the same small sparrow drawing near to her, now not an arm's length away from where she sat. "The dear little thing does not fear us."

Entwined with hers, Elros' fingers tightened a little at the sight, and Andreth smiled to see the fearless little sparrow, so near to Firiel, turning its head and observing the aged mortal with its dark little eye.

"Here, madam," Aelin said quickly, where she sat at Galadriel's side not far from Firiel. From a small cloth bag at her side, the elven lady produced a handful of seeds. "Take them."

Aelin rose, and moved toward Firiel, taking up the old woman's wrinkled hand, and pouring a small amount in the mortal lady's cupped palm.

"Hold it out," Aelin said. "And stay still for a moment. See what the little creature does."

Seeing the delight upon Firiel's face, Andreth traded a merry look with Elros as Firiel returned to her seat and remained still as Firiel did as Aelin bid her, lifting her cupped hand, and resting it upon the railing.

The bird did not seem to notice the proffered food at first, but then, tipping its head to the side, it eyed the seeds in Firiel's unmoving palm.

All four women watched it, breathless. It hopped away, then hopped near, paused a moment, then flew forward, and alighted upon Firiel's thumb.

A collective sigh escaped all the women, and Elros released a faint laugh of wonder as the little sparrow dipped its head, and began to eat.

"Ah, my sweet little friend," Firiel laughed lightly as the little bird tipped its head up and observed her, before dipping its head, and taking a few more seeds. The little creature then gave a hopping flutter so that it turned about, before taking to its wings and flying away.

"What shall I do with the rest that it did not eat?" Firiel asked.

"Sprinkle them upon the railing," Galadriel said. "They will be found sooner or later by hungry little birds that will be pleased to find them."

At Galadriel's words, Firiel did as she said, then dusted her hands with a sigh.

"Andreth," she said, turning. "Come with me down to the water, will you not? I have not yet walked by the seaside here, and I would like to do so, very much."

"Are you certain?" Andreth asked, sitting up, and shooting a quick, questioning glance toward Galadriel. "The steps are long, and may-,"

"Nonsense, child," Firiel chuckled, rising, with Andreth's help, to her feet. "Remember who changed your napkins when you were an infant, and taught you of the ways of men and women when you first came of age?"

"Firiel!" Andreth protested, feeling her face growing warm as Galadriel and Aelin laughed lightly. She drew her hand from Elros', blushing, unwilling to look at her betrothed.

"I can do more than you may think!" continued Firiel merrily as she picked up her cane, and started toward the steps that descended to the pebbly path that led to the long stone steps that would take her down to the water. "And now, I wish to go down and see the water. Will you not join me?"

Andreth pursed her lips, and glanced up into Firiel's eyes apologetically. "Of course," she said.

"You'll let me come with you?" Elros offered, rising, and offering Firiel his hand.

She took it gratefully and and rose, but then lifted her face to the young elf, her eyes filled with apology.

"Let this little journey be between me and Andreth alone, my dear boy."

Elros sighed, but nodded, unoffended. He looked at Andreth, and smiled.

"I will wait for you," he said.

Andreth returned the smile and stepped toward Firiel, letting her aged friend take her by the hand. A simple act; one she had done so often since before she could remember.

Together, the two women, the aged matron, and the young maiden descended the steps from the veranda as the elves stood behind them, watching silently. Together, matron and maid moved slowly along the path to the stone steps that led down to the water.

"Ah," Firiel sighed, "that is delicious," as a gentle gust of sea wind brushed their faces.

Even so, her steps were measured and careful as the two descended the long flight of stone steps toward the water, growing ever closer to the water's edge.

Andreth held her friend's hand tightly, studying the differences between them, her own hand smooth and flawless, Miriel's wrinkled, criss-crossed with distended veins, and mottled with aged spots. But it had been so gentle of a hand, soothing childhood fears, and wiping away her tears. Firiel it had been, who had comforted her after her father's death, and had eased her through the pain and grief of his loss. It had been Firiel who had brought Andreth to Mithlond, though she would be alone, so that Andreth might learn and grow, and as it had come to pass, had grown to love, and to be loved by Elros.

"I understand one can often find lovely things along the edge of the water," Firiel said as they descended.

"Yes," Andreth said before she dropped to the grass at her side. "Shells, and curious stones. This was found by Lord Círdan, it simply washed up by the waves." She touched a hand to the pearl necklace at her throat.

"Yes." The light in Firiel's eyes warmed her. "Elros told me the story of its finding by Lord Cirdan. It was meant for you. Just as goodly Lord Elros was meant for you. And you for him. The Valar knew it, ere you did. And though I did not know you were meant to wed an elven prince, I always knew you were destined for great things."

"You have always believed in me," Andreth said as the women's soft leather shoes pressed into the sand that lined the water's edge.

"Of course." Firiel said, turning to her, and gently squeezing her hand as Andreth bent, and drew off one shoe, and then the other, setting them together upon the bottommost step. The sand felt luxurious beneath her bare feet as the two women began walking along the sand.

The water hissed as it washed up the sand, tickling coolly over her feet and ankles. "Ah, it's chilly!" Looking down at her feet, she noticed a small shell through the clear water as it withdrew, and reached down, drawing it up, gleaming and dripping.

"Look at this!" she gasped. "Here." She put the small shell, in Firiel's hand, a small shell twirling gracefully into a narrow point, rough and striated upon the outer side, and smooth and pearlescent within.

"It is lovely," Firiel praised, holding it in the palm of her free hand, and caressing it with her thumb. "You know, Andreth, Eru Ilúvatar is a loving being, that he would have such marvelous things grace this beautiful world."

"He is," Andreth agreed.

"And surely, as merciful and just as He is to all his children, that which awaits those of us who are of the Second Born must be as wonderful as this world."

"Or better, perhaps," Andreth said, uncertain why her heart would begin to quicken so with an indefinable worry. "Where we will await the world's ending, when, I am sure, we will be rejoined with our sundered kin."

"I am certain you are right," Firiel sighed. "For Eru Ilúvatar is kind. He has given us so much. And surely will give us much more. More than we can even now comprehend."

"There is so much I would not have, but for you, Firiel," Andreth said, her hold upon the old woman's hand tightening. "Have I ever said thank you?"

"Oh, my dear," Firiel sighed, circling her arm about the maiden and squeezing her closer as she smiled. "Every day of your life, you have said thank you, whether you spoke the words or not. With the life you have lived, you have thanked me. With your goodness, and your deeds which have honored me more than words ever could."

Andreth's vision blurred at this, and Firiel stopped, grasped the maidens arms and turned Andreth to face her. She reached up a hand, and her fingers, soft and gentle, brushed away the tears that were spilling down Andreth's cheeks.

"And I promise you, I have not made you what you are. Perhaps I may have guided you a little, but only a very little. Greatness was in you, Andreth, from the beginning of your life. I could not have made gold out of iron. I have been honored to have known you."

"Everyone who has known you, has been honored, Firiel," Andreth said, the words choking out of her throat. To this, the old woman only smiled.

"Here," Firiel sighed, and released Andreth's hand, turned, and moved away from the water toward the slope of grassy earth where a large jutting rock made a natural backrest for her. With a sigh, she sat down upon the grassy slope, and leaned back against the rough face of the stone, set her cane beside her, and turned her eyes westward. "I am so pleased to know you will be going with your dear one to that land, far and away, beyond the horizon. It sounds so beautiful."

"And of course, you are going with us," Andreth said, moving to stand at her side before dropping to the grass beside her.

Firiel only looked up at her, and smiled. "I think I will sit here, for a short time. You go on, and walk along the shore. I will watch you from here." Firiel nudged her gently.

"Without you?"

"I will always be watching you." Firiel said.

Reluctant to leave her side, Andreth rose, but slowly, and walked to the edge of the water, lifting her skirts to wade out a short distance. She glanced back toward Firiel, who smiled, and lifted a hand in encouragement.

"Go ahead," Firiel said. "Forget that you are grown, that you are soon to be a queen. Let yourself be a child again, this once. Play as you did, when you were little, and we would go to the water's edge. I will be happy just to watch you play in the waves."

With a grin toward her aged friend, Andreth turned, gathered up her skirt in her fists, the hem around her knees, and dashed away with a girlish whoop, sprinting through the water, parallel to the shore, the ankle-deep water splashing up all around her.

Firiel smiled as she watched the maiden dashing away, then, feeling suddenly weary, she leaned her head back against the stone behind her, though her eyes remained fixed upon the young woman laughing as she splashed in the waves, knee-deep now. She smiled and shook her head. The maiden was thoroughly soaked.

Suddenly, she became aware of another presence. Right before her, and startled, the old woman looked up into a pair of familiar, dearly loved eyes.

"Ha- Hamar?" she gasped, wondering if this were some delicious illusion. This could not be her husband. This youth was barely more than a boy, Hamar as he had been at twenty-two, the age he had been when they had first met. _Ai_, but he was as handsome as she remembered!

"Greetings, lovely one," he said, squatting down before her. "I have missed you."

But- how was this? Firiel wondered.

"You know me?" she whispered.

"Of course, fair Firiel," he said with a chuckle. "I've known you since you were but a girl of seventeen." His smile eased, and his voice grew warm. "And loved you since then, as well."

Firiel ducked her eyes, ashamed as she studied the backs of her aged, wrinkled hands. "I am not as I was. I am no longer seventeen-,"

"Firiel," he murmured, and reached out, touching a hand to her cheek. "You have always been beautiful to me. Indeed, my love only grew as our years together passed. As the love of our dear Andreth and her honorable lord shall do."

Hamar turned and looked over his shoulder at Andreth, who still frolicked like a little girl in the water that frothed about her shins some distance away.

A pang of worry touched Firiel's heart even as she smiled. "Will she be-,"

"She will grieve, to be sure. But she has Elros the son of Eärendil. And he will watch over her."

Hamar smiled, and held out a hand, rising to his feet. "Come. I have much to show you. Andreth was right, concerning what you said some minutes ago. What is awaiting you, is indeed beautiful beyond imagining."

Firiel drew in a breath, tasting the sweet sea air in her lungs as she studied the open palm of her husband's strong, unmarred hand.

"I had hoped to see her wedding."

"You will, dearest Firiel," he soothed. "We both will."

She drew in a lingering breath, tasting the sweetness in her lungs. Was this, which was the destiny of every mortal indeed a doom, or was it a gift?

She lifted her eyes and looked into Hamar's face, seeing the love there in the gentle eyes, the strong, honed angles of his jaw, the tenderness of his smile.

It was a gift, she decided at last, and lifted a hand, slipping it into his.

Firiel wondered at her hand, as he raised her to her feet, for it was no longer marred with age, but fair and clear as it had been when she was young. Hamar reached out, and touched her hair, bringing a lock of it into her vision. Dark, raven black, and glistening, as it had once been.

She turned then, seeing behind her, an aged woman leaning back against a stone as if asleep. Upon her wrinkled, but gentle face, was a smile. A sweet smile of fulfillment and peace. And Firiel was glad.

"Come," he murmured, and Firiel turned away, tightened her grip within her husband's hand, and followed him.

…oOo…

Andreth smiled as she emerged from the water at last, thoroughly soaked, and weary from her childish adventure, but happy. As she approached Firiel, still seated against the rock, a soft breeze brushing her white hair, Andreth's smile began to fade. Something, she realized, was not as it had been.

She dropped the heavy, sopping hem of her skirt, and brushed back a lock of her sodden hair.

"Firiel?" she called.

Firiel's eyes were closed, and she did not respond. Nor even move slightly, as she might, in sleep.

Andreth stepped nearer, her heart growing heavy as she thought over the last words Firiel had said to her. "Firiel?" she called again, her voice breaking, even as the truth of what had happened settled over her.

She dropped to her knees beside the still form, taking in the softness of her face, the peace in the smile upon her lips.

She reached out, and took Firiel's unresponsive hand in her own. It still held the small shell Andreth had just given her. "Hamar came for you, didn't he?"

The still form did not respond, but despite that, Andreth knew in her heart, that he had.

It was not until some hours later, when the sun was sinking down toward the horizon, that Elros found Andreth, still sitting beside the body of Firiel, holding her hand.


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter 45

Andreth sat upon a fallen log, alone in the light of the setting sun, twirling a small green leaf in her fingers. The light green gown she wore, clinging to the edges of her shoulders, the sleeves and skirt fluttering in the breeze, matched the color of the leaves about her. The sylvan cave to which Elros had brought her, that night in autumn, oh, it seemed a lifetime before, when she had first realized she loved him, rose up among the trees not far away. The ever cascading sheet of water spilled before the cave's opening. Where she sat, the red sun touched the ocean upon the horizon, shining through the trees before her as through a tunnel, the light dancing off the glimmering sheet of water that spilled over the cave's mouth.

_Tomorrow_-

Her mouth moved with the word, but no sound came forth.

She sighed, and pressed her hands to the rough bark of the fallen tree she sat upon. "Firiel, I wish you could have stayed long enough to see me wed-,"

Andreth released another sigh, and bit back her words. Firiel _would_ see her wedding. It mattered not that Andreth would not be able to see her. She would be there, and Hamar, and Andreth's own parents. They would be there as well. Andreth knew it in her heart, but even so, her heart still hurt.

She dropped her eyes to the small leaf between her fingers, an oak leaf, enraptured at the delicate, simple beauty of one of Yavannah's creations. Intricate veins laced across the leaf from the main stem, reaching out to the three serrated prongs. The sun was disappearing, setting upon the last day she would be a maiden. A last flare of brilliant red light danced off the leaf in her hand, and then was gone. And twilight was upon her.

Andreth looked up toward the horizon where the red light of the faded day smouldered beneath the blanket of the horizon. And with it, a figure came walking toward her along the trail. A smile touched her face at the sight of her betrothed as he drew near and stopped a pace away from her.

"Elros," she greeted, lifting her face to gaze into the softness of his gentle grey eyes.

"I thought I might find you here," he said, his voice warm as he straddled the fallen log an arm's length away from her. He smiled at her, then looked away and reached out, picking up a fallen twig, studying it with the same interest she had shown the leaf.

"Yes," she said. "I have been watching the sun set. It is a pleasant place." She smiled and added, "But more pleasant with you here."

At this, Elros reached out, and clasped her hand. His smile caressed her, as warm as his strong grip.

"We will be wed tomorrow," he said, his fingers squeezing her own.

Andreth's eyes moved past him to the horizon where spears of red light still shot up into this sky. This time tomorrow, she and Elros would be husband and wife.

The thought set her heart to thumping, and a sudden wave of shyness washed over her.

"Yes, we will," she agreed, turning away from him, and withdrawing her hand from his, clutching her hands together in her lap.

"Andreth," he soothed, and she felt him drawing near her from behind, his hands finding her shoulders. "How are you?" His voice was thick with compassion. "That is to say- how is your heart? It has been three weeks since Firiel departed. I do not doubt but that you still grieve. I do, and I did not love her as you did."

"Of course I still grieve for Firiel," she sighed, leaning back until her shoulders rested against his chest. She smiled as Elros sighed against her ear, resting his jaw against the side of her head.

"A part of me always will," she confessed. Her voice trailed off as she partly turned her head to feel the softness of his breath against her cheek.

"The burial was so peaceful," Andreth said. "I am glad we revisited her lands once more. I was sad to see the buildings gone, but it is so green now. And I know she had wanted to be laid to rest beside Hamar."

Elros eased more closely to her. His firm chest warmed her back. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing against her shoulder blades, and it stirred her blood. "Andreth," he murmured, "if your heart is still too sad, we can wait. I will give you the time you need, to-,"

"No." She shook her head. "I do not wish to delay our wedding."

To this, Elros sighed, and turned his face, kissing her hair. "Are you certain? I will agree with what your heart wishes."

"I do not think Firiel would want us to wait." She paused, "_I _do not want to wait." Andreth lifted one of her hands, and rested it upon one of his where his hands clasped her shoulders. Gently, she stroked the backs of his fingers with her thumb. "You have blessed my life in so many ways, Elros. You are honorable, and kind, and-," she blushed before she spoke her next words, "wondrously beautiful."

Elros shifted behind her. His cheek nuzzled against her own, and though she could not see his face, she imagined him to be smiling.

"I want to be your wife," she finished at last.

A warm breath washed against the upper curve of her ear sending quavers of warmth through her blood.

"And more than anything in this world, I want to be your husband. Forever." His lips and his soft warm breath gently brushed against the rounded curve of her ear. "And, like Firiel and Hamar, I want my bones to rest beside yours when I die."

A short stab of pain lanced through her heart at this. _When I die- _he had said. Though she did not speak, Elros seemed to sense the emotion in her, for he shifted behind her, and she felt his hands tremble a little through the thin cloth of her gown. "Andreth Tindómiel, hear my words."

Andreth's heart thundered in her at the sweet words and plaintive tones in the voice of her betrothed. "I am listening," she breathed.

To this, Elros eased forward, more firmly against her until his lips brushed her ear. "_I will never regret giving up immortality_," he whispered, his voice gentle, yet beautifully commanding as he guessed her silent thoughts. His hands upon her shoulders gently squeezed, before trailing down her arms. One hand paused at her elbow then trailed back up to her shoulder. The other continued down her forearm to her hand, finding and gripping it where it rested on her stomach. The fingers of his free hand gently rubbed against the skin of her shoulder through the cloth of her gown.

Andreth's breath quickened.

"_I would rather spend one lifetime with you, than endure all the ages of this world alone,_" he breathed, his voice deepened, as his free hand found the back of her neck. Gentle fingers slid the curtain of her hair away from one side of her throat, and he bent his head.

A soft, indrawn gasp parted Andreth's lips as she felt Elros' mouth gently touch her throat. Though the first contact was but a gentle caress, as light as the touch of a butterfly's wing, it sent a wave of delicious warmth washing through her body. But with the second touch, and the third, his caresses gradually deepened, growing more insistent_. _"_My beautiful one_-," he breathed against her skin, his voice deepened, the words warm and delicious as his lips trailed from beneath her jaw, slowly down the length of her throat as his strong, warm hand trembled upon her shoulder, squeezing gently. The fingers of his other hand tightened within hers where they rested entwined, upon her abdomen.

She closed her eyes, tipping her head back against his shoulder the more easily for his mouth to stroke her throat as she reveled in the sweetness of his beautiful words, and the feel of his warm breath and trembling lips against the sensitive flesh.

"_My queen_-," he murmured, "_ every day, every breath, I will strive to bless your life as richly as you bless mine."_

The soft warmth of his breath against her skin was as enticing as the touch of his supple mouth, and Andreth found herself wanting to melt into his warm caresses. "_One night with you in my arms," _he whispered,_ "will be worth more than an eternity in the Blessed Realm, bereft of you_." The strength of the passion she sensed in him, still as yet contained, filled her with fire.

"Elros," she breathed, her voice trembling. And at the soft sound of his name, he sucked in a sharp breath, and drew back, releasing his hands.

"Andreth," he murmured, as if coming to himself. Andreth sighed and opened her eyes, feeling as if she had been jarred from a deep sleep.

Andreth pulled herself away from him and turned, meeting his eyes. Elros looked chagrined, his gaze fraught with apology.

"I am sorry," he muttered, the sinews of his jaw growing tense as he looked away, balling his hands into fists. He slung his leg over the log so that he was turned half way from her. "I should not have- my chivalry was overthrown- and I-,"

"No, it was not," she stood, and turned to him, offering her hand.

Elros took it willingly to rise, though his eyes still studied her with deepest apology.

His brow furrowed. "But just now, these past moments, I took liberties that-,"

Andreth could not help but smile at the contrition in his eyes.

"Elros," she soothed. "You have ever been nothing if not chivalrous. You did nothing dishonorable. And I-" she felt warmth climbing into her cheeks. "I did not find it unpleasant."

He sighed, and studied her eyes adoring her, saying no more.

"Come," she murmured, weaving her fingers through his. "Let us go back to Lord Círdan's house. The evening meal should be ready." She smiled, squeezing his hand. "And tomorrow will come soon enough."

Elros smiled at this. A deep breath swelled in his chest. "_Tomorrow_," he agreed.

She smiled up into his eyes. Then hand in hand, they started down the path toward the wide ocean, and the warm glow of the fading daylight they could see through the trees.

…oOo…

Aelin strolled with hurried calm along the north side of Círdan's house, her arms laden with a basket weighted with a variety of freshly picked flowers, most of them little tindómiel flowers, Andreth's favorite. Aelin's feet barely felt the cool of the grass beneath her, though they were yet bare. The morning was still young. The sky cool and blue but for a hint of distant clouds in the north, pink and gold before the trailing rays of the sun which had not yet shown her face above the eastern rim of the world.

She shuddered against a brief chill as a morning wind-swept along the high bluff toward the sea. A ragged sigh filled her lungs. _Thallon,_ she breathed. Were he beside her, he would have circled an arm about her, drawing her to his side as he so often had in their youth. But Aelin shook her head to herself, turning her thoughts to the present. For today was Andreth's wedding day. And Aelin did not wish to miss a chance to aid the maiden in her preparations. Her thoughts raced merrily along as her feet scurried in swift silence.

"Mistress Aelin?"

The voice behind her was so near and so unexpected, that Aelin drew in a sharp gasp, dropping her basket of flowers before she spun to see the dark haired minstrel, Maglor not ten paces behind her.

Involuntarily, her heart tightened, as did her teeth before she forced her expression to ease.

"I did not mean to startle you," he said as she bent to gather up her fallen flowers. He stepped forward as if he wished to help her, before stopping, and falling back. Only a few had spilled from the basket, and she gathered them back with little effort before rising.

"What do you wish, Fëanorion?" she asked, her tone less harsh than it had been in the past, though her heart still felt guarded to see him. The last living son of Fëanor bore a heavy, shapeless pack upon his back, and wore leather boots, and dark brown breeches, overlain with a tunic of lighter brown. He did not wear his jerkin emblazoned with the silmaril. Whether he had abandoned it, or had simply tucked it away in his shapeless pack, she could not guess. But for his face, she would not have known him to be who he was.

Maglor dropped his eyes. "Nothing, in truth. I merely wished to say thank you for your help."

"You are welcome," she said, drawing in a sigh. "What you did for Elros and Andreth was very kind. I am glad I was able to do what I could."

"All is in readiness, as you and Elrond and I have planned."

Aelin nodded. "Good."

Maglor sighed, and nodded his head before he began to turn away. But he stopped himself, and turned back. "Mistress?"

"Yes?"

"What-," he hesitated as if uncertain, then blurted, "what was your sister's name?"

Aelin swallowed stiffly at his question, and a momentary flair of anger welled in her heart. _How dare he? h_er first thoughts snarled before she gathered her emotions back to herself, and met Maglor's gaze. His eyes were heavy with a guilt he would never throw off.

At this realization, her anger gave way to a flicker of pity, and Aelin sighed. "Indilwen."

Maglor swallowed at this. "Indilwen," he sighed. "I think you will see her again, and soon." He turned away.

"Where are you going?"

Maglor turned back. "For now, I will be nearby, looking out for Lang. I do not think he has gone away, entirely. But then, after they sail, after you sail with them, I will go- I know not where, yet."

"I-," Aelin paused. "I wish you good fortune, Maglor."

A ghost of a smile touched Maglor's face. "Thank you, Aelin."

Then he turned and was gone, running, like a deer, away over the grassy bluff. In a moment, he was gone over the rim of the knoll, down the steep slope toward the beach.

Turning away, Aelin caught up her skirts again, and hurried all the more swiftly toward Andreth's chambers.

…oOo…

Andreth stood, studying herself in the polished glass of the mirror, Aelin's face, and Galadriel's beaming as their reflections met hers in the mirror, adding their final touches to her gown, or to her hair. Behind her, Talia sat upon the bed, watching, her eyes alight with admiration and wonder. The younger mortal girl held upon her lap, a single silken pillow, and upon that, something that glimmered in the light of the lamps. Something delicate and fair, but which she had not yet caught a clear look. She caught the young woman's eye in the mirror, and smiled. Talia smiled back before she dropped her eyes, and Andreth's eyes returned to her own reflection.

Her hair hung in a twisted, glimmering rope against her neck, tucked with many small tindómiel flowers, and twined in a delicate whorl that was gathered to her head in a single comb of glimmering silver.

Andreth blushed when she thought of the quiet exchange between herself and Galadriel not many minutes before as the elven lady was gathering up her hair into the delicate twist. The effect was beautiful, Andreth had said, reluctant to hurt the lady's feelings, but Elros, she had quietly whispered, preferred to see her hair hanging freely and unbound.

To this, Galadriel had smiled, a faintly playful, teasing smile, and had whispered back that Elros would have the chance to see her hair hanging unbound, once they were alone, and she had given him the pleasure of removing the silver comb that held it all in place. Andreth had then fallen silent, imagining the warmth in the eyes of her dear one as he removed the comb, loosing her hair as it tumbled in a smooth cascade about her shoulders when they found themselves alone as husband and wife for the first time.

Her hand shook slightly as she touched her fingers to the smooth fabric of the gown that graced her, her fingers sliding slowly from the cloth of the dress to the silver chain of the pearl necklace Elros had given her not long before their betrothal. The jeweled metal was cool against her flesh.

The silken fabric shimmered like a cloud, as if it had been woven from the shining threads of a nimbus.

Small, delicate clasps of wrought mithril gathered the cloth at her shoulders where it tumbled down her arms in glimmering swathes, like the shimmering wings of a delicate, white bird. The throat of the gown, embroidered with silver threads, scooped low, exposing the soft ridges of her collar bones, and clung about her young body in a way that accented the beauty of her maidenly form. The cloth clung smoothly to her slender hips where hung a loose belt threaded through with strands of silver. Beneath this, the skirt cascaded down her legs in folds of shimmering white. Beneath all this, simple white slippers graced her feet, soft and comfortable.

Elros would be no less majestic in his own robes, Andreth thought, imagining what sorts of preparations he was going through, now. She could only guess, for she had not seen him once, not since her waking that morning. The last she had seen him, had been the night before, when he bid her goodnight at the bottom of the steps that led up into the wing where her bedchamber waited. They had been kept apart, all day. But now, in but a few moments she would see him at last, and her heart tumbled in anticipation for that moment.

Beyond her window, the red light of the sun eased and faded into a gentle afterglow, indicating that the sun had fallen at last, beneath the horizon. Out there, in the wide grassy meadow beyond Círdan's house, she could see a bower, a white bower awaiting her and Elros. She could see it through her window, an intricate shelter of woven branches, open to accommodate the view of all who would gather. A pair of elven maidens were giving it some final touches as they wove armfuls of flowers through the many intricate weavings. Some distance away from the elven girls, long tables were being arrayed with many varieties of what looked to be delicious dishes. And out upon the grass, many guests were already gathering, elves and mortals alike, the Edain, who would sail with her and Elros, and be their subjects, whom she did not know, not all of them, but whom she already felt kinship toward.

"I remember the day I wed Celeborn beneath the trees of Doriath," Galadriel murmured as she tucked one last flower into Andreth's hair and stood back, admiring the maiden in the mirror. The lady, adorned in a flowing silken gown of light grey, stepped back to join Aelin who wore a soft gown of rust colored red. Talia stood then, the soft green gown she had been gifted by Lady Galadriel for the wedding, shimmered as the young woman moved.

"I too remember my wedding day," Aelin sighed softly, her voice that that of a besotted maiden. "Thallon was so handsome."

"Aelin," Galadriel murmured, her voice pleased. "This is the first time in so very long, you've spoken his name."

"Indeed, my lady," Aelin murmured, her voice soft and thoughtful as she fasten a last delicate silver clasp to the fabric at her shoulder. "I hope to have more reasons to speak it, in the days to come."

Andreth met the gentle gaze of Aelin in the mirror and her heart warmed at the tender smile upon the elven woman's face.

"There, I am finished," Aelin announced, stepping back from Andreth and making way as Talia moved forward, lifting a glimmering circlet of mithril from the small pillow, a delicate pearl hanging from the fore of the diadem to match the necklace at her breast.

"Here," Galadriel purred, taking the circlet from the smiling maiden's hands, and carefully tucking the shimmering, circlet into the twined gold of her hair, the dangling pearl resting in the center of Andreth's smooth brow.

In the dreams she had shared with Elros, Andreth had never seen her own image, and could not say if the diadem was a match for the circlet Elros had seen upon her brow. But this felt so very like the delicate crown she had worn, that Andreth wondered that perhaps it was a match to the diadem she had worn in her visions of Númenor.

"You're lovely, my lady," Talia murmured.

"Thank you," she said, warmed by the girl's admiration. She sighed, and met Galadriel's gaze in the mirror. "Would that Firiel could have been here today."

"But she is here," Galadriel murmured. The lady's fair, slender hand touched her shoulder. "Can you not feel her presence, Andreth?"

At the lady's room, Andreth grew still, as the other women did, and she dropped her eyes, listening to the silence. _Firiel_? She questioned in her mind. _Are you here? As she said?_

And then, in that moment, Andreth felt a presence at her side, and a gentle hand touching her own. So real, that she was almost surprise when she glanced up into the mirror, and did not see Firiel's familiar form standing beside her in the mirror's surface.

_Need you ask?_ A gentle voice seemed to laugh within her thoughts. _I am here. I will always be here._

"Yes," Andreth sighed, and reached up, feeling the cool grip of the elven lady's hand slide into her own. Galadriel smiled, a knowing look in her eye as if she knew of the silent exchange between Andreth and her departed friend. "You are right. She is."

Galadriel's eyes gleamed with compassion as Andreth spoke. "Come," she breathed gently. "Let us take you to your betrothed."

And with these words, Andreth's heart lifted, light as a soaring bird, and with Galadriel's hand clutched in her own, and with the other women surrounding her, turned to the door of her bedchamber. And though her steps were sedate and unhurried, her heart flew like the beat of a hummingbird's wings.

...oOo…

Elros perused himself in the high mirror, studying the silver-grey robe that fit snuggly over his shoulders, and hung open down the center of his chest, revealing the silken tunic beneath which was belted loosely at the waist, hanging over breeches of the same color. Calf high boots of soft, sun bleached leather, completed his wedding attire. He tugged softly on the silver broidered hem of his robe, though the robe already hung smoothly over his chest. He drew in a deep and shaking breath, wishing to still the hammering of his heart, though it did little. He glanced in the mirror at the other men over his shoulder who sat about the room, or stood pacing. Elrond who wore a dark blue robe, sat upon the divan, leaning forward, his elbows upon his knees, and his hands clasped. His eyes studied the ground, and though his face was peaceful and content enough, his brother seemed slightly despondent. Círdan, in robes of blue and sea green, stood at the shoulder of Elros' brother, and Gil Galad, in robes of dark grey, stood not far away. Celeborn, however, the only married elf of the group, stood nearer, clad in silver robes, his hands behind his back. Silence filled the room.

Elros glanced toward the window where the red glow of the setting sun shone through, the light creeping slowly up the wall, the nearer the sun fell toward the horizon.

He swallowed, and reached up, for perhaps the seventh time, and touched the crown of twined silver that graced his brow. His hair hung down, smooth and dark over his shoulders and down his back. Nothing seemed out of place, even so, he was not ready to go.

It was nearly time to depart, Elros knew, but he hesitated. His eye caught the glance of Círdan in the mirror, and the ancient shipwright smiled, and offered a nod of his head.

"Come, Ereinion," Círdan said, speaking to Gil Galad, "and Elrond. Let us go and see to the preparations."

Soft murmurs of assent escaped the two younger elves. Elros glanced over his shoulder and Elrond rose, offered him a faint grin and departed after Círdan and Gil Galad. Elros and Galadriel's lord were left alone in the chamber, and as the door closed behind Círdan's back, the tall silver haired lord, released a deep breath.

"I too, felt much trepidation on my wedding day," Celeborn said, and as he turned and met Elros' eyes, the younger elf read the understanding there.

Círdan, despite his ages of wisdom, had never wed, and though his compassion was great, he did not understand Elros' sudden uncertainties.

"I fear, suddenly, my lord, that I may not be worthy of her," Elros breathed. "That I am too young and untried to be wed, that I have little, if anything, to give to so great a lady as Andreth."

Celeborn grinned at this, and in his eyes, Elros could see that his words had struck a cord of understanding. "So I too felt, and still do, on occasion," Celeborn said, his voice warm.

The silver-haired elf grinned faintly, and reached out, jostling Elros' shoulder with a firm, though gentle shake. "But if you do this one thing, your life with her will be ever be full and content, and she will always have joy in her heart."

"What is it, my lord?" Elros asked, his heart thumping within him.

Celeborn drew in a deep breath and smiled. "Love her," he said. "Every day, every hour. Simply love her. Cherish her, and remember always, the treasure that she is. I know that you will be king, where you will dwell, but she must be, to you, above all else. Her happiness must be your first and last, and chiefest duty, and if you remember that, all other duties that will be yours, you will fulfill as you should. Women, Elros, are the crowning gem in the diadem of the All Father. They are his dearest, most treasured jewels. So she must be to you. Live your life to serve her, and in time-," Celeborn paused, and a thoughtful softness came over his eyes. "And in time," he repeated, "the children she will bear you."

Elros dropped his eyes, dampness filling them at Celeborn's words. The elven lord's hand tightened upon his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

Beyond the window to his balcony, the fierce rays of the sun flared and faded, and he knew the sun had fallen below the horizon.

"She is waiting for me, isn't she?" he said.

Celeborn chuckled warmly. "Perhaps," he said. "Should we go, and see?"

Elros drew in a deep breath at this. A confusing wave of fearful excitement surged in his heart.

"Very well my lord_,_" he agreed, and with Celeborn's hand upon his shoulder, turned toward the door.

…oOo…

The main hall was quiet, though the sounds of voices, mingled with the scent of flowers, filtered in from outside as Elros made his way down the stairs at Celeborn's side. He was grateful for the presence of the silver-haired elf, as well as his wisdom. He intended to love Andreth every day of his life, to cherish her, to treasure her. Yet to hear the words spoken by one who had loved his own wife for so long, the understanding sank even deeper.

Andreth was not in the main hall when he reached the bottommost step. But beyond the door, a subdued cheer arose from a gathering, congregated in the forecourt as they saw him through the door. Mortals, the Edain, waited for him, buzzing in their excitement. He could already see through the door, the bright faces of those who would be his people. Tall, noble looking men, clad in the livery in which they had fought in the great war, torn, perhaps, or stained, but proud. And beside the men, gentle, bright faced women, garlands of flowers in their hair, or in their hands. And just within the door, Elrond stood, a faint grin upon his face. And at the approach of his brother, Elrond stepped away from the door, and started toward him.

Elros' jaw tightened softly as Celeborn's hand dropped from his shoulder. Celeborn stepped away as Elrond approached, and Elros gulped, noting his brother's eyes gleaming with unshed tears. Elrond threw his arms about his brother as Elros neared, holding him close in an embrace that was almost fierce, as if he feared to let him go.

"She loves you, little brother," Elrond choked softly as he drew back, his hands firm upon shoulders. "With all the strength of her fëa."

"And I love her, with all the strength of mine," Elros returned softly.

Elrond smiled kindly. "Come, Elros," he urged gently. "Your people are waiting."

"Has she not come down yet?" Elros asked, following his brother's lead toward the door.

"She will yet," Elrond grinned. "Come, speak to them a moment, before she joins you. They have waited for you, and would be honored by a few words."

Elros sighed, and grinned as he strode through the door behind Elrond, who stepped aside, so that Elros could pause at the top of the steps alone, and study the faces of those who would be his people, their eyes uplifted to him. The three houses of the Edain, his kindred. He smiled at the thought, and raised his hand in salute to them.

Smiles and applause filled the air of the forecourt at this.

"Thank you, my brothers, my sisters," he managed to say, hoping his voice carried out far enough despite the sudden choke that had clenched his throat. "My heart is warmed by your desire to share this day with me, and my lady, Andreth, she who will be our queen in the blessed land where we will soon sail together."

Smiles and warm cheers filled the evening air as Elros, with Elrond and Celeborn flanking him, began to descend the steps. As he descended, the people, as one, dropped to their knees, their heads bowed. One of the first men, the chieftain of one of the small clans of the people of Hador, Elros recognized. The man, seeming to sense eyes upon him, lifted his head a little.

As their eyes met, Elros smiled. He reached out, and with his left hand, took the man's arm, raising him up again as he clasped the man's hand with his right.

"Your majesty," the man breathed.

"I am grateful to you," Elrond managed to murmur past a catch in his throat. He clapped a hand on the man's shoulder and turned toward the others who were rising slowly to their feet like their Hadorian chieftain. He lifted his voice. "I am grateful to all of you. Together, my friends, we will make the land which the Valar have gifted to us, a wondrous place, and a blessing to our children, and to their children."

The man before him smiled, though tears filled his eyes, and his hand tightened briefly within Elros'. A moment later, though, the man's grip fell away as his eyes lifted to the doorway behind Elros. The eyes of the men and women about him all lifted as one, and grew bright. A reverent hush fell over the gathering.

Andreth had come at last. Elros drew in a breath, and swallowed fiercely, his heart thundering now in his chest, savoring this moment of sweet anticipation, before he turned, and lifted his eyes.

From the first realization that he loved her, that he wanted her as his wife, Elros had envisioned this moment, had pictured Andreth, adorned in a wedding gown, her eyes seeing and adoring only him. But nothing had prepared him for this consuming fire that raced wildly through his blood as his eyes came to rest upon his bride where she stood poised upon the crest of the steps, her eyes fixed upon him, her gaze at once both fierce and consummately sweet.

There were others beside her, he realized, the lady Galadriel, and Aelin, and the mortal maid, Talia. But Elros saw no others but Andreth. The white gown that adorned her resplendent young body, seemed to bear a silver glow as she descended toward him, like a seabird with starlight on its wings as she glided smoothly down the steps.

But no, she was a woman. A woman who had no wish to fly away from him. A woman of supple flesh, and warm blood, a woman whose eyes adored him, weighted with sweet secrets. Her fair cheeks warmed with color as she neared him; the rapid beat of her pulse visible beneath the pale flesh of her delicate throat. And her soft, perfect breasts, concealed by the silken fabric of her gown, which rose and fell fervently as Elros placed one foot upon the bottommost step, and waited for her as she came.

…oOo…

Andreth's heart trembled with anticipation as she descended the steps drawing ever nearer toward her dear one, her gaze ensnared by his, her eyes unable to leave the wondrous image of Elros as he moved with the grace of a Vala to the base of the steps, and placed one foot upon the bottommost step, his eyes uplifted as he waited for her. The exquisite robes that adorned him did little to disguise the firm strength of his young, muscled form. How beautiful he was, she thought to herself, how fiercely beautiful as his lips turned up in a timid, endearing smile even as his eyes, as grey and as deep, and as turbulent as the sea, devoured her. His lean chest rose and fell all the more deeply the nearer she drew to him, until at last, she forced herself to stop two steps above him.

"We are well met, my lady," Elros murmured, his eyes plaintive despite his formal words as he lifted his hand with a short bow.

"Well met indeed my lord," she returned as she extended her hand, and slipped her fingers lightly into the warmth of his proffered grip. A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd before them even as tongues of flame crackled through her body as he bent his head and pressed a chaste kiss against her knuckles.


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter 46

The cool of the evening washed about her and Elros who bowed before her in the cool blue twilight, his head bent over her hand, his lips brushing her knuckles with the faintest caress.

Elros lifted his head then and gazed up into her eyes, his gaze almost worshipful. And as he studied her eyes, it struck her. How very much like the image in her shared dreams he looked, with his fine clothes, and the elegant crown upon his head.

"You look just as I remember from our dreams," he breathed, his voice soft with wonder, his words echoing her own thoughts.

"And you also," she breathed, conscious of the fire in her blood that the faintest touch of his fingers stirred.

Elros' chest swelled with an indrawn breath, and he smiled, like a shy youth, his face bright with the wonder they shared between them. He straightened, his hand still clinging to her own. Oh, dearest Valar, she could lose herself in his sea-grey eyes, turbulent passions swirling behind his gaze.

"Elros Eärendilion."

The voice carried through the air of the lowering evening. Andreth drew in a quick breath as both she and Elros turned. Beyond the forecourt, upon the grass of the wide meadow, Círdan stood, his hands behind his back, waiting beneath the archway into the bower.

The soft murmur of the Edain fell into silence, save for a soft rustle of fabric as men and women moved to one side and the other, creating a path between them toward the bower.

Her heart thumped within her as she struggled to remember the words of the ceremony Galadriel had helped her rehearse.

"My lord, Círdan," Elros called back. With a final squeeze, he released Andreth's hand, then turned and bowed his head toward the silver-haired shipwright.

"Why have you come here, this day?" Círdan's voice was gentle, lower and measured, though it carried easily through the evening air.

Elros drew in a deep breath that swelled his chest. He cast a fleeting, tender glance toward Andreth beside him.

"To bind myself to this lady, Andreth, daughter of Beldir," he returned, his eyes caressing her as he spoke.

"Then, if it is the will of your heart, take your place, and await the coming of your bride," Círdan admonished.

At these words, Galadriel stepped forward, silent and graceful, and rested a hand upon Elros' arm, taking the place the bride's mother would have, were she here. A slight, ragged breath jerked in Andreth's lungs at this. Seeming to sense her thoughts, Galadriel cast Andreth a gentle glance. The playfulness in her eyes was gone; this was to have been Firiel's duty, and Galadriel's gaze filled with the weighted solemnity of this knowledge even as her eyes warmed with encouragement.

Elros drew in another ragged breath before he started forward with Galadriel at his side. The pair moving between the parted gathering of Edain. Andreth watched them go, her eyes upon Elros, her breath quickening at the grace and strength of his stride. The eyes of the crowd followed Elros and his fair escort, bowing their heads as they passed, and Andreth's eyes stopped as she recognized Hathel among them. She smiled at the sight of him with Talia already at his side. The mortal maiden must have found him in the crowd already, and gone to stand beside him. His hand was upon her elbow in the gesture of a familiar friend, and the sight gladdened Andreth's heart.

"Andreth, daughter of Beldir," Círdan called again, emotion catching in his voice. Andreth lifted her eyes. Elros had taken his place beneath the woven branches of the bower. Galadriel stood just outside the bower. The elven lady's eyes found Andreth, and smiled. Andreth smiled in return.

A space away from Andreth, Elrond stepped nearer, his boots brushing over the stones beneath his feet.

"My lord, Círdan," she offered, fearing perhaps that her voice had not carried, until the ancient elf smiled.

"Why have you come here, this day?"

"To bind myself to this lord, Elros, son of Eärendil," she returned. Her quavering voice echoed through the still air as she met Elros' gaze across the distance between them.

"Then-," Círdan choked, his voice carrying the tenderness of a father, his eyes filled with such warmth and pride that Andreth's heart swelled within her, "if it is the will of your heart-, go to him."

In a moment, Elrond was at her side taking the place Elros' father would have, and she turned, smiling up into his eyes as his hand found her own. His strong grip served to calm the painful throbbing of her heart, and her heart lifted with gratitude. But then as she noted his eyes, and the mingle joy and sorrow that radiated from his dear features, her heart tightened. How much pain at his brother's choice did he still feel? What did he hide for their sakes?

"Elrond, you're sad-," she breathed, her heart weighted.

"No," he said, sensing her concern, "do not worry for me. I am fine." He leaned near. "And this is your day, little sister."

As a grin touched his face, Andreth smiled in return. He squeezed her hand. "Come," he breathed.

All eyes in the silent gathering turned upon Andreth now as she, with her trembling hand in Elrond's sturdy grip, stepped forward and started across the space between herself and Elros where he waited for her beneath the flower entwined archway. Just beyond her beloved, stood Círdan, and as she met the gaze of the ancient shipwright, his eyes grew gentle, no less tender than a father's would have been.

Andreth's heart took flight, beating like a seabird's wings as she turned her eyes from Círdan toward Elros' tender gaze a he watched her come, his eyes adoring her.

To her right and left, heads bowed as she passed, though her own eyes were fixed unmoving upon her betrothed as she drew ever nearer to him. He was so beautiful, she mused, his chest rising and falling as she came, his eyes fairly worshiping her as she neared.

As she reached the grass, it shifted and rustled about her slippered feet. The sweet heady scent of the flowering vines twined through the woven branches of the bower embraced her in their scent.

Galadriel's eyes, greeted her as she reached the archway into the vine entwined bower. Elrond's hand released her, and the gentle touch of his hand at her back urged her forward into the sweetly scented enclosure where Elros and Círdan stood.

Andreth turned to face Elros, her flesh aching at his closeness and warmth. How she wanted to reach for him, to touch him, though she would not do so. Not yet.

Elros spoke not at all, but his chest rose and fell with deepened emotion as their gazes embraced passionately across the space between them. His pulse was visible beneath the taut flesh of his throat, and she knew that hers was visible to him as well.

Without speaking, his eyes lifted to the westward sky, and Andreth turned her head, following his gaze, her eyes looking up through the twined branches of the bower to the smooth curve of the evening sky where one star alone, was visible, hanging low in the dark velvet of the sky. Andreth looking up through the archway into the sky from whence the wind came. The evening star seemed brighter than usual.

"I watched it as you came," he whispered so that she alone could hear. "The light touched your hair, and set you all in silver light." She turned her eyes again to him. He smiled, his lips quivering as his eyes gleamed with unshed tears. "My father and mother approve of you, my _Tindómiel_."

His parents approved of her. The understanding settled upon her heart, setting Andreth's soul soaring up and away, among the stars.

"My lord," Galadriel's voice murmured from the archway, bringing Andreth's thoughts back to the earth, "you have come this day, to bind yourself to this maiden."

"I have, lady," Elros returned, his voice louder now, his eyes remaining fixed upon Andreth's.

"Have you your gift for her?" Galadriel asked.

"I do." With quiet reverence, Elros reached into a small pocket on his belt, and withdrew a single golden ring.

"My lady," Elrond's voice, warm and deep with affection, "you have come here this day to bind yourself to my brother."

"I have, lord," Andreth murmured, her eyes drowning in Elros' sea grey gaze.

"Have you your gift for him?" Elrond continued.

"I do." Andreth reached into a small pouch hidden behind the belt at her hips, and withdrew a cool, smooth golden ring.

"Lord Elros," Galadriel's gentle voice spoke now, "will you vow to love my friend Andreth, to honor her, and protect her, to comfort her and cleave to her as Varda's lord cleaves to her?"

"I will, my lady," Elros answered. "I swear it." His eyes unmoving from Andreth's face, danced with light as he spoke the words.

"Lady Andreth," Elrond's warm tones intoned, "will you vow to love my brother Elros, to honor him, and protect him, to comfort him and cleave to him as Manwë's lady cleaves to him?"

"I will, my lord," Andreth vowed, and a look of adoration claimed Elros' countenance as she spoke. "I swear it."

Elros drew in a deep breath now, and his hand at last, found hers between them, his fingers warm and lean and strong. Andreth trembled as he lifted her hand between them. Her eyes dropped to their hands, and she studied them, his fingers warm, lean, strong. Hers slender, tapered. Fairer, and smaller, in contrast to his. His hands, she observed, were beautiful as his fingers took the silver betrothal ring, sliding it gently from her finger. One hand tucked it reverently away before he lifted the golden ring, and slipped it onto the finger where the silver ring had once been. The metal was cool and smooth as it slid down the length of her finger, and his fingers were warm. The ring fit perfectly.

Her eyes lifted to his once again.

"This ring I give to you lady," Elros murmured, "as a token that I bind myself to you as your husband, and that the vows I make this day, I will keep."

Elros' words were measured and solemn as he spoke, but his gaze pulsed with promise, giving silent meaning to the words he spoke.

"Do you accept my pledge, lady?" he asked, his voice a warm caress.

"I accept it, my lord," Andreth murmured.

A gentle evening wind washed over the silent meadow from the sea sweet with the scent of the ocean as she drew in a breath.

"This ring I give to you lord," she breathed in a soft voice, struggling to keep her words steady despite the wild pounding of her heart, as she slipped the silver ring from his own finger to tuck it away in the hidden pocket from which she'd brought the golden ring, "as a token that I bind myself to you as your wife, and that the vows I make this day, I will keep."

As she slipped the golden band onto his finger, in the place where the silver ring had rested for so long, she lifted her eyes and watched his gaze, her heart softening at the love and the tender longing she could see in his eyes as the ring finally found its place at the base of his finger.

"Do you accept my pledge, lord?" she whispered, still clinging to his hand.

"I accept it, lady," Elros breathed, his voice eager and tender as the warmth in his tones washed through her soul.

The weight of his softly spoken words quavered through her heart like the strains of a hymn; of the great and eternal song of Eru. Her lips parted as she studied the way her dear one drew in a deep breath, his eyes caressing her tenderly.

"As Varda and Manwë are your witnesses," Círdan spoke now, his voice reverent, "and as the Father of us all stands in witness-," the silver haired shipwright drew in a breath, the moment tingling with anticipation before he intoned in a voice deepened with gladness, "You are now husband, and wife."

A soft gasp caught in Andreth's throat as Elros' fingers tightened gently about both her own. A rush of sweet completeness swelled her heart as she gazed up into his sea grey eyes.

Beyond the bower where they stood, the meadow erupted into joyful cheers, the solemn air vanishing. But Andreth stood facing Elros, their fingers woven eagerly together, both of them silent and motionless but for the quickened motion of their deepened breathing, and the quiet trembling of their bodies. At last Elros lifted her hands to his lips, kissing her fingers, her knuckles, the caresses of his lips no longer so chaste as when they had met at the base of the steps, but still, she could sense the tension in him, the restraint with which she was so familiar.

She could not look away from him, his eyes fixed ardently upon her, her heart and soul entirely overcome with the weight of the understanding that he was her- her _husband_.

Trails of lightening crackled along her limbs as Elros questioned her with his eyes. She smiled, giving him her answer. Then with boyish timidity, he slowly bent his head downward. Andreth sighed, and tilted her face upward.

For the briefest moment, Elros paused, his mouth hovering deliciously above her own, their breaths mingling before slowly, so slowly, he closed the space between them and brushed his mouth across her parted lips. A kiss so soft and chaste, that it caught her breath away from her. He drew back a fraction. Andreth trembled as Elros' eyes met hers, turbulent and filled with adoration. His fingers tightened about her own before releasing her hands. One hand touched her side, warm through the cloth of her gown, and slid over her hip. The other lifted and brushed against her throat. His fingertips soft like the wing of a bird slid up her jaw until his hand cupped her cheek. Once again, he bent his head, and captured her mouth, tasting her with tentative hunger.

Andreth trembled in pleasure, relishing the feel of her husband's strong, firm body against her own, awakening excitement and passions that threatened to overwhelm her. She reached timidly forward, and slid her hands slowly beneath the soft weight of Elros' robe, her fingers pressing into the fabric of his tunic, feeling the warmth of his torso, and the steady movement of his breathing. To this, Elros moaned softly against her mouth, so softly that no other but she could hear. Slowly, he drew back. His eyes found hers, and he smiled.

"Andreth Tindómiel," he breathed, his hand caressing her face, "I-," he drew in a ragged breath. His eyes were deep, and passionately intense. "I love you, my-, my wife."

The simple words, the first declaration of love between them as husband and wife, spoken in a voice of breathless wonder, sent a thrill of joy trilling through her heart.

"And I love you, Elros, _Rau Amin_. My- husband," she sighed, tasting the sweetness of the word upon her tongue as she spoke it.

Turning her head, her eyes found Círdan's, and her heart swelled with gratitude. The ancient shipwright smiled as their eyes met.

"Congratulations, my children," he said, reaching for, and clasping her hand.

Andreth drew in a breath, and squeezed Círdan's hand. She stepped away from Elros, and in a moment, her arms were around the shipwright's shoulders.

"Thank you," she choked against his shoulder. His garments brushed against her cheek, soft and sweet smelling, like the sea.

She felt Círdan chuckle, unruffled by her sudden affection. He embraced her in return a long moment their embrace eased and she stepped back, shooting a glance to Elros, who grinned at her, then stepped forward and embraced Círdan as she had.

"May the Valar bless you with happiness, Elros," Círdan said, his voice breaking with emotion as the younger dark haired elf stepped back, and turned his eyes to her, returning to her side.

"They already have," Elros said, his hand seeking and finding her own.

"Andreth?"

Galadriel's voice laughed from behind her, and she and Elros both turned toward Galadriel and Elrond who, with beaming countenances and soft laughter, moved forward to embrace them.

Andreth smiled tearfully into Galadriel's eyes as the elven lady caught her against herself, and kissed her cheek.

"How happy I am, for you," Galadriel whispered against her hair. "May the blessings of the Valar rest upon you, always."

Galadriel drew back smiling to turn toward the bridegroom. But Elrond had not turned yet from his brother. His left hand was upon Elros' shoulder, and Elros' hand was upon his. Something was between them; a small folded bit of parchment passed from Elrond's hand to Elros'.

"_No matter where I go_," Elros murmured, his voice barely audible as he squeezed the piece of parchment into his fist. "_No matter how long our parting, you will always be my brother_."

"_And you mine_," Elrond returned. He drew back with a trembling grin, and with his hand still upon his brother's shoulder, turned toward Andreth where she stood beside Galadriel. "But now, you also have a wife." He smiled. "And I a sister."

Elrond stepped forward now, his strong arms circling her and catching her close. "The blessings of all the Valar be with you forever, little sister," he murmured, his voice choked. "My brother has chosen well."

"Thank you, older brother," Andreth murmured into his shoulder.

"You are most welcome," he choked. He drew back and nodded to his brother who was accepting Galadriel's congratulations. "I've given something to Elros. He will share it with you."

"Come," Galadriel urged, smiling. And at her bidding, Andreth and Elros, finding each other's hands, stepped beneath the archway of the bower, to the applause of the Edain.

Out of the midst of these, Celeborn stepped, tall and regal as he came forth.

"Blessings to you both," Galadriel's tall, noble husband said as he reached them. His hand gripped Andreth's elbow, and clasped Elros' hand.

Celeborn turned his eyes upon Andreth, and his look grew tender. "Elros is a most blessed man, my lady, for you are truly one of the fairest of all the daughters of elves, or of men."

"Thank you, my lord," Andreth murmured, humbled by his praise. She tightened her fingers, woven through Elros', and felt their gentle, answering response. "I too am wonderfully blessed."

Celeborn now turned his eyes upon Elros, and the two shared a silent, though weighted look. "Remember what we spoke of," Celeborn said.

"I will," Elros vowed. He lifted her hand, and bent his head, pressing a kiss to her fingers.

The faintest look of something indefinable entered the eyes of the silver haired elven lord as he looked from her to Elros and back again. "And may your treasure remain with you always, and any parting between you be brief."

Celeborn's smile trembled, and he stepped back, turning to move to Galadriel, who had stood by, looking on in silence. She smiled at his coming, and her hand extended as he came, finding and clasping his as a look of gentlest love passed between them.

"Elrond said he gave you- something," Andreth said now that she and Elros stood alone, she shrank closer to his side, her eyes falling to the parchment in his hand.

"Yes, my lovely wife, he did," Elros said, a smile warming the smooth tones of his voice.

Andreth blushed, loving the sound of the word as he handed the folded parchment to her.

Touching the paper with her own fingers, she turned the parchment so that she could see the words as well.

_Follow the lamps_, the words upon the parchment said, and beneath the words, a single name. _~Maglor _Nothing more.

"Elros," a voice called, and the two looked up.

Through the crowd of Edain, Gil Galad came striding, and at his side, Aelin came. Both elves led a horse by the bridle, each animal fully bridled and saddled. The young Noldorin king guided Nórui, Elros' stallion, and Aelin came, leading Maidh by the bridle. Behind the two horses, came a tinkling of bells, and Andreth smiled to see Lavaniel trotting faithfully at the heels of her equine friends. This elicited many muffled chuckles, for about the little goat's neck was entwined a silken white ribbon, and a necklace of flowers. While into the mare's mane, tindómiel flowers and silken silver ribbons had been woven, making Maidh look as if she too, were a bride, and little Lavaniel her faithful attendant.

A delighted cry filled the air as a group of little children noted the small goat, and came scampering near, surrounding her, petting her, and stroking her. Pleased with the attention, Lavaniel turned her attention onto the children, bleating merrily.

Gil Galad grinned, seeing that Elros and Andreth had noted him, and spoke something to Aelin, who smiled as well.

"Blessings to you, my friends," the young Noldorin king greeted, and with a sigh, Elros and Andreth drew apart, turning to the elves who stopped before them.

Gil Galad smiled. He stepped forward and surrendered Nórui's reigns into Elros' hands.

Aelin did not speak at first, though her eyes danced as she handed Maidh's reigns into Andreth's hands.

"Lord Maglor wishes us to- follow the lamps?" Andreth queried, sensing that the two of them would understand the message within Elrond's missive.

"Yes," Aelin said, trading a knowing glance with Gil Galad. "Look there."

Aelin's slender hand pointed. Elros and Andreth turned, and looked through the weavings of the branches of the bower where they had just wed, toward the line of trees on the far side of the wide meadow. Where the shadows of the trees began, all was dark except in one place where a single light gleamed in the low branch of a tree, bright in the deepening twilight.

Suppressed laughter danced in Aelin's voice. "Follow the lamps," she repeated, and Gil Galad chuckled, not speaking.

Trading a glance with her new husband, Andreth smiled, then moved to Maidh's side. The creamy white mare had been saddled with a side-saddle, for which Andreth, with the skirts of her wedding gown, was grateful.

Gracefully, she mounted, smiling over at her new husband who deftly swung to Nórui's back with his usual elven grace, calling back to her mind, the first day of her riding lessons, nearly a full year ago. He met her eyes and grinned, his gaze telling her as easily as words could, that his thoughts had returned to that day as well.

With the newly wedded pair mounted upon their horses, a band of musicians seated near the food tables, took it as a signal, and music sprang up, filling the evening air, and echoing merrily away over the grass toward the line of shadowed trees.

And at this, the crowd began to shift, some moving toward the tables laden with food, others, couples hand in hand, beginning to dance merrily upon the grass in time to the music, beneath the light of the full, yellow moon which had just lifted his silver face above the eastern edge of the world. Others of the Edain remained near, their eyes fixed upon the newly wedded couple, smiling and trading merry glances as Elros turned Nórui's head to maneuver nearer to his new bride. Grinning mischievously, he lifted a hand, cupped her face and leaned in, gently kissing her amidst gentle applause.

Drawing back enough so that their eyes could find one another, Elros offered her a boyish half grin and murmured, "What would you say, were I to confess to you, that the first day of your riding lessons, I imagined kissing you like this?"

"Did you?" she wondered.

"For a fleeting moment. I tried to dismiss it as boyish foolishness, but I could not deny that you were thoroughly captivating."

"As were you," she breathed dropping her eyes, recalling how regal, how graceful and fiercely beautiful he had looked, mounted upon Nórui's back as he rode beneath the sunlight, the wind in his hair and braids. She lifted a hand, and touched the pearl that rested beneath her throat. "It was the first day you showed me this."

"Yes," he agreed, his voice softened, and his eyes dropped to the fair pearl resting against her flesh. It was a long moment before his eyes lifted again. "Many things have happened since then," he breathed. "Many marvelous things."

She looked up again, searching the depths of his fathomless sea grey eyes, a warm inviting spark dancing within them. She smiled. "We should follow the lamps," she breathed.

Elros drew back a breath swelled in his chest. "So we should."

He grinned as Andreth turned Maidh's head toward the forest, toward the single shining lamp she could see there, and kicked the mare into a trot.

A moment later, she heard the soft pounding of hooves coming behind her, and turned to see Elros at her side, the moonlight upon his strong form, and the wind in his hair.

Andreth smiled, and reached a hand out, which he eagerly took, as their mounts trotted on, side by side.

…oOo…

Galadriel stood beneath the moonlight, a faint smile upon her face as she watched the newly wedded couple trot away from the music, the laughter, the voices of mingle languages, of men and of elves. Nearer they went toward the shadows of the trees, side by side, and the one single lamp that gleamed upon a low branch at the very edge of the trees, until they disappeared beneath the welcoming shadows of the trees.

Celeborn studied her from a space away, a glass of wine in his hand, though he had barely touched it, wishing to keep his senses about him as he contemplated the marvel that was his wife.

How fair she looked, silver beneath the moon, like a bride herself, her hair long and gleaming about her shoulders, and spilling about her shapely form. How soft it would feel, Celeborn mused, to lose his fingers in it, to take her into his arms, her form supple and yielding, and yet strong, and-

_You are remembering our wedding night?_

The thoughts touched his mind playfully as Galadriel turned her head, observing him with dancing eyes.

The silver-haired elven lord felt his face growing warm. Yet he managed a grin of his own.

_And what if I am, lady? Would you think me a scoundrel?_

Galadriel's smile widened at his returned thoughts.

_I cannot deny that sensing your desire for me is most flattering,_ her thoughts returned.

_I cannot help it,_ Celeborn returned, setting his glass down on the table beside him, and taking a step toward her, though much space still remained between them. _You are the most beautiful woman I have every known. My heart is in your hands, and I am at your mercy._

Her smile quivered a little. _Sometimes it is frightening how much power you give me over you. You, my love, who are one of the most powerful of the princes of the Teleri._

_Because you treat my heart gently,_ he assured her in his thoughts. And to this, her smile softened, and she looked suddenly like a shy young maiden, youthful, vulnerable, and in need of his protection.

How he longed for that chance. To protect her, to watch over her.

Galadriel sighed, and he knew she sensed his thoughts, though they were but emotions, and without words.

_Follow me_, she admonished silently. _I want to show you something_. And with that, she turned away, gliding away toward the point where the deepening shadows of the trees met the edge of the knoll where the land fell down toward the sea.

Celeborn's heart caught upon a beat. Eagerly, he followed after her.

…oOo…

Elrond listened, as if from a distance, to the bright, merry music as he lifted a wine glass, and took a thoughtful sip.

All about him, was merriment, elves and men with bright eyes, and happy laughter.

And Elrond too, was happy, truly. Even so, he admitted, he could not deny the pulsing ache that had dwelt in his heart, often pushed away into hidden corners, but always present from the moment his brother had spoken the words, _I choose a mortal life_.

Elros dwelt in his heart. And Andreth dwelt there, too, occupying a space that would be empty forever, once they both passed beyond the boundaries of the world. And the thought saddened him, despite the joy he also felt at the happiness they had found together.

"M'lord, m'lord-,"

A tugging at his robe brought Elrond away from his morose thoughts, and he turned his eyes down to meet the bright eyes of a little yellow-haired mortal child. The little girl wore her hair in two braids, her head adorned with a crown of flowers, hanging askew. She grinned up at him, showing a gap in her mouth where two teeth were missing.

"Here," she said, lifting a flower.

"Thank you, my lady," he said, taking it from her, and offering the child a gracious bow as he tucked it behind the point of his ear. To this, the child giggled.

"And for you," he said, reaching to the table at his side, and scooping up a small berry tart from a platter.

He handed the little girl the sweet, and she giggled again, taking an eager bite. Her eyes widened in delight at the taste before she turned, and darted back to a group of children who were squealing in delight at the antics of the little goat, Lavaniel who cantered about in the midst of them, twisting and bleating as if she too were trying to dance to the music. Elrond smiled. For once, the little goat had stayed behind, of her own volition, and had not followed her equine friends. Beyond the antics of the little dancing goat, though, something else caught his eye, and he looked up in time to note Galadriel, trailed by her husband Celeborn who glanced about furtively, almost guiltily before he vanished behind his wife into the shadows of the forest near the knoll that dropped down to the mouth of Elros and Elrond's little cave.

Elrond sighed at this, and dropped his eyes, chagrined. Their truancy, he realized, was not something he was meant to have seen.

His eyes turned back to the children who gathered about the gentle little goat, patting her, and cavorting with her. He smiled. Thank the All Father for children, he thought, remembering that his heart was not entirely without gladness, though it would never be the same. Elros dwelt in his heart, and Andreth, who was as dear to him now, as if she had been his sister from infancy. And Elrond did not relish the understanding that one day he would lose both of them.

But now, as his eyes moved from the dancing children over the mingled assembly, and let his eyes linger upon the dancers out upon the meadow, youths and maidens dancing hand in hand, somehow, from somewhere he could not name, he felt the faintest gleam of hope. A promise that his heart would not be forever empty.

…oOo…

"This is the cave of the _Peredhil_, is it not?"

Galadriel smiled at the first audible words her husband had spoken since they had left the wedding feast.

She turned toward him, admiring the way the light of the lamps gleamed in his eyes as he ducked past the waterfall into the little grotto, and looked around in awe.

Instead of shadows, the little chamber had been transformed. Lamps hung here and there about the room, and a warm fire burned in a little hollow in one corner, its smoke escaping to one side of the cascading sheet of water. Not far from the fire, a small, elegant table had been set, two carven chairs beside it, and two covered platters, no doubt with food beneath them, still warm.

Over all these, Celeborn's eyes moved in amazement, though as his gaze moved across the room, it lingered longest on the sumptuous bed that had been arranged against the other side of the cave.

Galadriel felt her blood stir as his eyes widened, and his breath quickened at the sight of it.

"Some of the servants in the house of our dear Lord Círdan, arranged this for Andreth and Elros," Galadriel explained. "Well meaning as they were, they did not know of the little house in the forest."

"Ah," Celeborn returned. His eyes moved from the bed to the small table were the food waited. "Clearly they took great pains for this."

"They did," Galadriel agreed.

She smiled as his gaze slid again, back to the bed. "'Twould be a pity that their efforts go to waste."

"It would," Galadriel agreed. She turned and glided toward her husband, smiling as she sensed his thoughts, and the desires stirring within him as he watched her glide toward him.

Galadriel stopped as she reached him, and gazed up into his eyes as she lifted her hands and rested her palms against his chest. For a long moment she stood thusly, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing before she slid her hands upward, and slipped her arms beneath his robe, pushing it over his broad shoulders. The thick cloth tumbled to the cave floor at his feet, forgotten, as Galadriel's arms circled about his neck. She drew in a breath, enjoying, for the moment, the feel of his strong, firm body pressed against her own through the fabric of her gown and his tunic between them.

Celeborn's strong hands found her waist, and his gaze deepened, need filling his eyes. "Tell me what you want, Galadriel," he hissed, his voice suddenly grown thick, filling her with warmth. "Tell me what you desire of me, and I will give it you."

Galadriel leaned forward, and gently kissed him. At this, Celeborn's arms slid about her waist, pulling her firmly to him as he began to deepen the kiss, but she drew suddenly back, and he, startled, let her go, a very little. Enough to look into her face.

Galadriel drew in a gasp, struggling to calm her suddenly wild breathing as she studied her husband's eyes. In so many things she craved to be in command; she knew this and admitted it willingly to herself. She wanted power, people to lead. But here in his arms, she found that she was strangely pleased to be at his mercy, to be in the embrace of this wise, and gentle Telerin prince whose physical prowess far outmatched her own.

"So often you think of what _I_ want, my lord, Celeborn," she gasped, "Tonight, tell me what _you_ want."

Celeborn blinked at this, and looked away briefly. She sensed his thoughts racing. _A child_, his thoughts told her before his words did. He turned back, and studied her eyes, his emotions hopeful. "A daughter," he breathed. "One as beautiful as you."

He swallowed audibly, and her heart ached at the pleading in his eyes.

Galadriel smiled at this. "I would love a daughter," she said, and looked away, blushing coyly. Her eyes turned back again to her husband's. "But- what else do you desire, my lord?"

To this, a roguish smile drew up Celeborn's lips. "I will show you, my lady," he growled, fire lighting his eyes. And this time, as Celeborn pulled her fiercely to him, she surrendered eagerly, his mouth capturing her own in a searing kiss.

It would be many hours before the food would be touched; it would be cold then. But that mattered little to Galadriel, for the bed was very warm.

…oOo…

Andreth could not withhold a laugh of soft curiosity as Maidh trotted beneath the dark trees, little visible here in the deep night shadows of the forest, but the next glowing lamp toward which they rode. They had passed five already, and were surely deep in the forest. Deeper than she had ever ventured. Andreth doubted that this place would look familiar to her, even in the daylight. But still, she was not afraid. For she sensed a protective presence around them, something intangible, but very real, and she looked over at her husband's silhouette, seeking his eyes, wondering if he sensed it too. Perhaps, she mused, it was something like the girdle of Melian.

For the darkness, she could not see his face, though his lean, sturdy outline was clear enough to her. And the touch of his hand very real. She squeezed Elros' hand, feeling it returning her squeeze as he trotted beside her, Nórui and Maid keeping perfect rhythm.

They had not spoken since they had entered the forest, and Andreth was content with that. Silence unbroken but for the hoofbeats of their mounts seemed fitting here in this place of gentle shadows and sweet mystery.

The lamp was growing closer, a delicately crafted elven lamp like the others, a gleam shining through the grating. It hung from the branch of a particularly fat tree, the only light she could see in the dark forest. It illuminated the tree beside it, casting the smooth bark and the ground below in a silver sheen. Little else was visible.

But as she and Elros reached and passed beneath the single lamp, a glow they had not seen until now, for it had been blocked by the trunk of the tree and the other trees of the forest, found their eyes.

A radiance as of many hundreds of silver lamps glowed steadily in a clearing not far ahead, beyond a few darkly silhouetted trees.

Elros, as startled as she dropped her hand, and drew Nórui to a stop. Andreth did the same.

"What is it?" she breathed in the silence, and shot a glance to her husband.

Elros returned her gaze, equally in awe.

"Our- gift from Maglor," he breathed, though his voice told her clearly, that he could not say what sort of gift it could be. "Let us go see," he said, and urged Nórui into a hasty trot.

Andreth nudged Maidh, who trotted after the stallion. Andreth checked her breath in her throat as the trees fell away, and the clearing came into view.

Her lips parted in amazement, and she tried to speak, though only a sigh came forth as she gazed up at the curving walls and arching windows of the little dwelling perched within the branches of the fat tree in the center of the clearing. The little dwelling, fair and white as the bark of the tree in which it rested appeared as if it were but a natural extension of the tree itself, clearly fashioned by elven skill. An ascending staircase spiraled around the trunk away out of sight, leading, she presumed, to an entrance to the fair dwelling. Silver lamps hung about the clearing, illuminating the tree and the little house nested within its branches; one small lamp hung at the base of the steps as if beckoning them to ascend.

_Maglor had made all this?_

"Oh, it's beautiful," she breathed.

A breath escaped her husband, followed by the creak of leather as Elros swung smoothly to the ground. Soft leaves and twigs crackled under his boots as he strode now to Maidh's side, and looked up into Andreth's eyes.

Wordlessly, Andreth turned to him, drew her foot from the stirrup, and slid easily from Maidh's back, down into his welcoming arms in a whisper of skirts.

His arms circled her waist, strong and warm, and her hands found his shoulders, firm beneath the cloth of his robe.

Elros smiled, his eyes dancing in the light of the many silver lanterns.

"Welcome home, my fair wife," he said, and smiled.


	47. Chapter 47

Chapter 47

Andreth stood still, content in the circle of Elros' arms. _"Welcome home,"_ he had said, moments ago.

And indeed she was home, for wherever he was, she would always be home.

"Welcome home to you as well, my lord," she murmured, admiring the play of lamplight across the angles of his face.

Elros smiled, and leaned forward, letting his brow rest against her own. His eyes fell closed. He did not attempt to kiss her, but this seemed right to Andreth. She let her own eyes droop closed as well, and they stood together, listening to the silence of the forest, and their own breathing.

After a time, the horses began to shift. Nórui pawed the ground, then snorted; his hooves thumped hollowly against the ground as he moved to Maidh.

"Andreth," Elros sighed, and drew back. Andreth opened her eyes to find his studying her. "_Tindómiel_. My wife."

"My husband," she breathed. "_Rau Amin_."

A hand lifted, and fingers brushed her cheek. Still, he did not kiss her.

"I saw a stable on the other side of the clearing," he said. "I will see to the horses. I will join you inside, in a moment."

His arms fell from her, and he turned away.

Nórui's head was near to Maidh's as if the mare and stallion were whispering and feared to be overheard. Elros gathered up their reins. Then he paused.

Elros released a breath, then turned back to Andreth, and met her eyes.

"I suppose I should remove my robe."

"It would afford you more ease of movement, to- care for our mounts," she agreed, finding her voice.

Biting her lip, she stepped forward, and took hold of the edges of his open robe, helping him as he slipped his arms out of the folds of cloth. Her heart quickened as she gathered the weight of the long robe to herself, and her eyes lifted to his, so close to her own.

Free of the fine robe, the shape of his shoulders and torso were more visible than before beneath the cloth of his finely woven tunic and his overlaying jerkin.

Involuntarily, her mind cast back to the few times when she had seen Elros naked to the waist. She recalled the corded muscles shifting beneath his lightly tanned skin, the grace of his limbs as he moved.

Andreth looped his robe over one arm, wondering what it would be like to touch his skin, smooth yet firm beneath her hands, and so warm-

Andreth swallowed hard, and glanced away. "I will carry this inside for you," she stammered, grateful that Elros merely nodded, and turned away, gathering up the reins of the horses.

He left her there leading the horses away beneath the silver light of the lanterns circling the clearing. Andreth stood for a moment, watching him go, admiring the grace and the power of his stride, the form of his shoulders, his calf high boots, and the strength of his legs beneath his breeches.

This last thought left her cheeks burning, and Andreth turned away. With silent steps, she made her way toward the tree, and the bottommost stair where the single lamp hung from the eave that sheltered the rising steps, supported by slender columns that marched up the steps, bordered by an elegant hand rail.

Looping the smooth weight of Elros' robe over one arm, she touched a hand to the railing with her other, passed beneath the glowing lamp, and began to climb, a twinge of curiosity overriding for a fleeting moment, the strangeness of being Elros' wife.

The steps circled the tree, taking her past the stable, an elegant though simple little building of obvious elven craftsmanship where she could see, through a half-closed door, her husband, his work illuminated by a lantern within.

He lifted the saddle from Maidh's back, while Nórui, relieved of his gear, was flicking his tail, and eating from a manger. Elros' back was turned to Andreth, and she could see the muscles of his shoulders through the cloth as he settled the saddle over a low wall beside him.

Barely aware that her steps had paused, Andreth's hand tightened upon the railing, and her lips parted as she watched her husband's graceful movements. Elros returned to the mare and patted her, a grooming brush looped over one hand. How gently now he brushed Maidh, his hands well-formed, powerful, yet so tender as they stroked the horse's creamy coat. He was half turned to Andreth, and she could see the smile upon his lips, his mouth moving with soft words as he soothed and praised the horse.

Though it would have pleased her to remain watching Elros, Andreth sighed, and turned away. She continued on up the steps until she reached the crest of the curving staircase where stood a white door, polished and adorned with carvings of leaves and vines.

She put her hand upon the latch and pushed on it, her breath checked as a sweet scent rolled out. Tentatively, she stepped through, finding herself in a small sitting room with a door opposite her, identical to the one she had passed through. Woven chairs graced the walls, and in one corner, upon the smooth surface of a little table, sat a vase lush with flowers of many and varied colors. The reason for the sweet scent that filled the air.

She lay Elros' robe over one of the chairs, and continued on to the next door. She pushed it open, and stepped through, finding herself in a larger chamber with curving walls. Opposite her, a single candle in a bracket on the wall bathed the chamber in a dim glow. A few windows graced the walls, but they were all shuttered. To the left of the doorway, sat a chair, its back adorned with carven vines and leaves, like the doors. It was simple but beautiful, and not the only fair thing that graced the shadowed chamber.

The dim light was still sufficient for her to note the beauty of the rest of the room, her breath catching as she lifted her eyes to the cross beams supporting an arching ceiling, where here and there, the tree's natural branches lent support. To her left, against the furthest curve of the room, sat a small square table with carven chairs beside it, and a silver tray bearing two covered platters. No doubt with food beneath them. On one side of the silver tray sat two decanters, bearing wine, perhaps, for fluted glasses sat beside them. Standing beside the small table, was a modest cupboard, holding, she supposed, more food.

A few steps away from the little table, a wide dais upon three smoothed carven steps rose up in the center of the room. And upon this graceful dais sat an elegant bed. Four posts rose at the corners, a canopy stretched between the tops of the posts. Between the solid posts hung gossamer curtains, veiling the interior on three sides. On the fourth, the gossamer curtain had been drawn aside, tied with a ribbon to the post, revealing the wide bed itself, adorned with soft, deep pillows, and warm coverlets. Her wedding bed, Andreth realized, feeling her face growing warm; the bed she would share with Elros.

Andreth bit her lip, and let her gaze slide away to her right where the room narrowed, bathed in deeper shadow. Here, a wardrobe stood against the wall, with a small dressing table beside it. A tall mirror within a carved frame adorned the wall to one side of the table.

Upon the dressing table, sat a small flat bundle wrapped in silk, and tied elegantly with a ribbon. A small square of folded parchment lay upon the square of silk, tucked beneath one ribbon. This drew her toward the dressing table, and she smiled to see her name upon the outer fold of the parchment.

She drew the bit of parchment into her hands, and unfolded it.

_Dearest Andreth, _it read,_ this is a gift for you, from our lady Galadriel, myself, and of course, dear Firiel. I hope this gift pleases you. All my love, your friend, Aelin._

Andreth's throat tightened, and she set the note down before loosing the elegant ribbon, and drawing back the silken folds.

Folded within, was a soft, shimmering garment of sea green. As she lifted it, she was struck first, by how light it was, like holding something woven of starlight. Passing her hand beneath it, she could see the barest outline of her palms and fingers through the cloth. What was-

"_Oh,_" she breathed, as the length of it tumbled in a soft whisper nearly to her feet.

A sleeping gown. She held the shoulders in her hands. The fabric was beautiful, shimmering even in the dim light. It seemed fitting that it would remind her of the sea, a mix of blue and green for she and her husband, and the people of the Edain would soon be crossing over the sea to their new home.

Andreth held it against herself, her heart growing still, and turned to study her image in the mirror. The shoulders were a thumb's length in thickness, and would leave most of her shoulder bare, along with the entire length of her arms and hands. The neckline, she could already see, plunged deliciously low. A trembling smile touched her lips as she imagined the delight Firiel and the elven women had shared, planning and fashioning this gift for her.

A warm longing for Elros to see her thusly attired when he entered their wedding chamber pulsed through her veins, mixed with a confusing tingle of inexplicable fear.

Her breath began quickening as she pushed away the prick of uncertainty, then bent and removed her slippers from her feet. The floor was cool and smooth beneath her feet. She turned and opened the gilded door of the wardrobe, to see within, carven hooks and shelves for clothes, and a woven basket. Most were empty, but upon one side, there were shelves lined with neatly folded garments, both for herself, and Elros. Andreth managed a tremulous smile as she hastily pushed the sleeves of her gown from her shoulders, letting it slide down her body and puddle about her feet. They would not need to leave this little clearing for days, if they did not wish to.

Andreth shivered as she pulled the fabric of her shift from her shoulders and let it slip to the floor to join her gown. Removing her undergarments and dropping them into the pool of fabric at her feet, Andreth shivered, her heart thundering within her that she could dare to disrobe so completely in this new, and unfamiliar place, and with Elros so near- Her heart clenched. What if he came through the door this very instant? A part of her wished him to, but another part desperately hoped he didn't.

Snatching up the thin night gown, Andreth swiftly stepped into it. It flowed over her bare skin like water as she put it on, loving the smooth feel of it against her flesh, like the touch of a cloud. It flattered the soft curves of her young body wonderfully, she decided gazing at herself in the mirror and turning slowly, to study herself from all angles. At last, she faced herself fully, noting her own hurried breathing, and flushed cheeks, and through the gossamer fabric, hints of what it concealed.

The diadem still gleamed in her hair, the necklace upon her fair bosom.

Carefully, Andreth reached behind her throat, and unfastened the clasp, then lay the pearl necklace upon the dressing table. She repeated the action with the matching diadem in her hair, setting it beside the necklace.

Reaching back, she touched the comb that would loose the elegant whorls of her hair. Then she stopped. No. She would leave that for Elros to remove.

Reverently, she bent, retrieving her garments from the floor. Her gown, she hung upon a hook within the wardrobe, while the other things she dropped into the woven basket.

Gently, with trembling fingers, she shut the wardrobe's elegant doors. The latch fell shut with a delicious click.

Footsteps sounded upon the stairs just beyond the door, a soft scrape of boots as Elros paused at the outer door. Andreth started and turned as the latch turned, and he stepped into the little forechamber.

"Andreth?" Elros' voice called from the little forechamber as the latch of the first door clicked shut.

"I- am here." Her quavering voice echoed in the wide room.

His boots whispered as he crossed the little sitting room. The door creaked as he pushed it inward, and he entered.

Her heart jumped at the sight of him as her new husband stepped into the room, and with a foot, pushed the door shut behind him. Tall and fair, and fiercely beautiful, his long dark hair and braids hanging over his chest, and down his back. She was torn between dashing into his arms, and a sudden urge to fly away, and hide. The buckles of his jerkin were already undone, and fell open, revealing the thin fabric of his tunic beneath. The front of his tunic could fall open down past the center of his chest, but for a string that crossed through eyelets, tied closed at the hem of his neckline beneath his collarbones. With his jerkin fastened, she had not noticed this before.

His eyes traveled to the bed and the little table on the opposite side of the room.

Seeming not to see her, Elros removed the silver circlet from his head, and set it upon the seat of the single chair to his left. He reached down, and pulled one boot off, then the other, setting them beside the chair to his left.

Andreth's heart, already tight, jumped. She had never seen his feet bare before.

As if he feared to disturb the silence of the room, he whispered, "Andre-,"

"Elros," she breathed, and he turned, his eyes finding her where she stood in the shadows.

For a long moment, Elros stood still, unmoving but for his chest which rose and fell deeply and his eyes which moved over her, softening worshipfully as they did. At last, he spoke.

"_Dear Valar_."

The words fell from his lips with deepest solemnity. It was no mere exclamation that he uttered. It was the most hallowed of prayers.

"_You are beautiful_."

A wave of sudden shyness washed over her, and Andreth grasped for the back of the chair as she turned from him. She had anticipated this night for so long. Why then was she suddenly so afraid? What did she fear? Elros himself? Certainly not! The- _pain_ then? No, for she knew Elros would be gentle with her.

What, then?

"_Tindómiel_," Elros breathed behind her. His hand touched her shoulder. He had come behind her so quietly that even in this stillness, she had not heard him.

She felt the fingers of his other hand brush the back of her neck, then slide slowly up to her ear, his thumb caressing the rounded curve before drawing away as his fingers slid up through her hair. They stopped as they came into contact with the silver comb.

"May I?" he breathed.

Andreth felt herself shiver before she found her voice. "Please," she murmured.

His fingers eased the comb out, and the cool weight of her hair tumbled about her shoulders in a cascade of russet and gold, spilling into Elros' hands. The comb clattered upon the dressing table, forgotten.

"_My wife_." Elros voice was rough, thick with pleading as his hand brushed her hair aside, and he bent his head.

Andreth shivered as Elros' breath brushed against the sensitive skin of her throat, followed by the soft touch of his lips. Her breath caught as the tender caresses quickly grew more insistent. His grip tightened upon her arms as his warm, moist mouth trailed down, gradually nearing her shoulder.

"_My bride_," his voice moaned as his mouth tasted, caressed her skin.

She tried to speak, to reciprocate his ardor, but her voice would not work, and Andreth could only swallow thickly.

Elros' hands slid down her arms now, trailing to her wrists, before sliding across her stomach, drawing her more firmly against him. His chest was hard and warm against her back, his heart throbbing furiously between her shoulder blades. She could sense his desire for her, and it both frightened and thrilled her.

Through the thin cloth over her stomach, she felt the gentle, though firm strength of his hands and fingers.

"_How long we have waited for this-_," he breathed, his voice deep and rough, almost a muffle sob. "_My queen_-,"

One hand crept upward over the thin cloth, his fingertips trailing over the flesh of her stomach, brushing up over the ridges of her ribs. "_I love you_-," he growled as his warm hand, gently and with infinite tenderness, closed over soft flesh which, until now, decorum and his own honor had not permitted him to touch.

An involuntary gasp escaped her and she felt herself stiffen slightly. At this, Elros pulled away, and stepped back.

"Andreth-," he murmured, his voice taut, "forgive me-"

She turned to him, lifting her eyes to his, shamed that she had caused such a look of worry upon his face.

"No," she choked, as she dropped her eyes. "Forgive _me_. I- should not be so-"

"Andreth." His voice, gentle and soothing, silenced her, and she looked up again.

His expression melted from worry into one of understanding, softening and soothing her heart as he stepped forward, and tenderly cupped her soft shoulders in his hands, so firm and strong, yet so gentle, too.

"My fairest Tindómiel," he soothed, as he leaned forward, and gently kissed her upon the brow, a chaste kiss that conveyed tenderness and longing, yet which demanded nothing.

"Do not be ashamed that you are suddenly afraid of this-," he paused a long moment, "_newness_ between us. I too am unsure and uncertain. Truly, I do not know what I am doing."

He drew her to him, and circled his arms about her, strong and warm, his chin coming to rest upon her head.

One hand touched her hair, his fingers weaving into its cool thickness, slowly sliding through the length of it.

Andreth closed her eyes, feeling the tension fading from her body as his hand trailed down the length of her hair. "And _do not_ be sorry, Andreth. It is enough, simply to hold you, for now."

"But I am your wife," she breathed. "I want to please you, and I should-,"

"You should do nothing more than you are doing now," Elros soothed. "And you already please me."

Andreth closed her eyes, drinking in the feeling of him stroking her hair. Oh, why did she feel this nameless, foolish apprehension? In all her fancies and daydreams about what her wedding night would be like, she had never imagined being _afraid_!

His hand reached the end of her unbound hair, and paused at the small of her back. "You _are_ my wife," he murmured. "And I am your husband. And for now, that is enough."

He drew back and smiled, the tenderness in his eyes softening her heart. His hands found her shoulders once again.

Andreth lifted her eyes, penitent, and at her expression, he smiled.

"Come," he urged. "It is late, and we are both weary. Let us simply- lie together, for now. And become used to each other, together in the night."

He stepped back, and turned toward the bed, leading her by the hand.

Andreth followed him, studying his face, flawless, strong, yet gentle in the dim candlelight, his eyes warm with tenderness whenever he turned to meet her eyes.

Their bare feet whispered as Elros led her up the smooth steps of the dais. At the side of the bed where the curtain had been drawn aside, Elros let her hand go. He turned and caught hold of the coverlet, drawing it back. The cloth rustled.

He turned, and sat down upon the bed, lifting his eyes to her, his gaze speaking without words, conveying his adoration for her in the silence between them.

Swallowing, she turned, lowering herself to the bed beside him. She lowered a hand to the soft sheets, her eyes turned shyly from Elros as she ran her fingers over the luxurious fabric.

Elros' hand touched her back and trailed back and forth.

She sighed and turned to him, still unable to lift her eyes. She touched a hand to his chest, her fingers coming in contact with the stiffness of his loosened jerkin.

"This would be somewhat stiff to sleep in," she said, caressing one of the loose fastenings. Then, realizing what she had said, drew back a little, blushing.

"It would," he admitted, his voice reverberating in his chest. "May I take it off?"

"Yes," she said, glancing away as he pulled off the loose jerkin and dropped it in a whisper of crumpling cloth beside the bed.

Andreth glanced at him, then dropped her eyes, blushing. Without the stiffness of his jerkin, the lean strength of his arms and chest were even more evident than before.

Beside her, the bed shifted, and gently, Elros' arm touched her back once again, rubbing slowly from one shoulder to the other, then down to the small of her back, and up again.

Andreth closed her eyes, and leaned against him, tipping her head against Elros' shoulder. His arms went about her then, and together, they sat in silence for a long moment.

"_Lie with me_?" he murmured, his voice a deep purr.

She nodded against the soft cloth of his tunic. Tension drained from her body as Elros leaned back cradling her against his chest; slowly, together, they settled against the softness of the pillows.

Elros, still with his arms about her, shifted a little, pushing his legs beneath the coverlet, and Andreth moved with him, relishing the softness of the coverlet and the sheets against her bare feet as well as the feel of his warm, strong legs against her own. She settled at his side, her head once more against his shoulder, amazed at how natural, how comfortable it felt to lay thusly as her free arm slid across his chest. The hand of his arm that cradled her head shifted, slid across her back, and entwined in her loose hair. The cloth of his tunic was soft against her cheek, and his body, so strong and firm, was wonderfully warm against her own. Especially as he drew up the coverlet over them both, then slipped his free hand beneath the warm covering, and let it settle at her hip.

She shifted her head and lifted her eyes to see his own upon her.

She found herself returning his smile, studying the deepness of his grey eyes, his dark hair splayed about him on the pillows. How she wished she could simply cast aside this inexplicable fear, and give herself to him!

"This is our wedding night," Andreth sighed. "And-"

"And it is wonderful," he said, turning his face, and kissing her brow. "Let your cares fade away my love, and sleep. Sleep."

His free hand touched her face, his thumb brushed over her heavy lids, and she let them fall closed. Elros bent his head over her, and she felt his lips kiss her closed eyelids, one, then the other.

"For so long, I have wanted to watch you sleep with your eyes closed, your lashes brushing your cheeks," he breathed. "You are unspeakably fascinating."

"As are you," she murmured, nuzzling into her husband's chest. She slid her hand over the thin fabric of his tunic to the center of his broad chest, where she let it rest directly over his heart. Even as she felt the warm weight of slumber settling on her, she could feel the soothing throb of his heart beneath her hand.

One last spark flickered before she sank into sleep. "Elros?"

"What is it, fair one?"

She felt his breath brushing her face.

"I love you."

She sensed him smiling. And then he spoke, but she did not hear what he said, for she was lost to sleep.

…oOo…

"I love you, as well," Elros whispered.

But perhaps she did not hear, for her deepened breathing told him that she was already walking the path of her own dreams.

Elros smiled down at his wife nestled against his shoulder, the length of her slender, flawless body pressed against his side. So warm, so soft and alluring. One slender arm lay across his chest, her hand directly above his heart. Her other arm lay beneath her, her elbow bent. Her hand rested against his shoulder, her palm pillowing her cheek.

She was beautiful. So beautiful, it was agonizing just to look upon her. And Elros admitted that he longed with all the strength of his soul and body to do more than simply gaze upon his new wife. Even now, as he studied her face in the faint candle light, and felt the soft movement of her body against his own, desire stirred and swelled painfully in his blood.

Elros turned his eyes to the silver canopy over his head. The smooth cloth rippled in the gentle night air that stirred in the chamber. He drew in a deep breath through his teeth, willing the thickness of his blood to ease, and cool. Making love to her could wait. She was sleeping. And this was what she needed now; simply to be held, to be adored, to sleep in his arms. Their bodies were not one yet, but their souls were, and would be forever. It was enough. For now. And his heart was content.

As much as she might think otherwise, this was a perfect wedding night.

…oOo…

Andreth started awake, and lifted her head from the curve of Elros' shoulder.

The single candle in the room was a dying flicker in the wide chamber. And by what light managed to filter through the shutters of the windows, she could see that the moon had completed half of his journey across the sky.

Turning her head back, she lifted her head to her husband's face. Elros lay upon his back, his dark hair splayed over the pillows. His open eyes gazed up at the silver canopy above their heads, but she knew that he slept, for his gaze was clouded and unfocused, and his breathing deep and even, swelling his chest in a gentle rhythm. What sweet visions inhabited his slumbering elvish mind? Would that she could join him there, as she once had.

Blinking wearily, she stirred, becoming aware of the contact between herself and her husband, the renewed awareness stirring her blood even through their clothing. The skirt of her nightgown had somehow snaked up to her midthigh. And one of her legs, she discovered, had twined with one of his in their shared sleep. Both his arms encircled her.

How she longed to stay here, entwined with him, adoring him until the sun rose in the east. But Andreth could not ignore the dryness in her mouth, thinking of the two decanters.

The supper which had been left for them, they had not touched, and she not eaten or drunken anything since the mid day meal.

Stirring at this thought, she gently untangling herself from her husband's embrace, hoping not to wake him. Her efforts were in vain though, for as she drew away, he stirred, and a light flickered in his eyes.

"_Don't go_," he pleaded in the silent darkness, his voice deep and soft with sleep. His eyes blinked, and awareness came again into them as his gaze found her own.

He reached out for her, finding her hand.

"I'm not going far," she whispered, propping herself upon one elbow, and touching her free hand to his face.

He gazed up at her.

"Are you thirsty?" she wondered.

"Yes," he said. His tone and the deepness of his eyes gave her pause, and a faint premonition that he spoke not merely of thirst for drink.

Andreth smiled. Then as her heart jumped within her, she lowered her head, and brushed her lips over his.

Elros returned her soft caress his lips tasting hers with tentative longing, He lifted a hand to touch her face. Andreth smiled, letting her lips linger upon his a moment longer before she drew back.

His hand moved to her hair catching a thick tress, and fingering it as if it were a length of smooth silk.

"I will get you something." She drew back, her hair sliding through his fingers like liquid gold in the faint light. She rose from the bed, the coverings whispering as she stood. She turned and pattered down the dais steps, toward the small table where the covered platters of food and the two decanters waited.

…oOo…

From the bed, Elros watched his bride glide away toward the little table where the food and drink had been set. Even in the small light of the dying candle, he could see the details of her slender body through the cloth of her sleeping gown, as thin as if it had been woven from the insubstantial threads of starlight. Despite his resolve to wait until she was ready, his desire for her stirred anew within him. A soft groan escaped his lips. How desperately he _wanted_ her!

Drawing a breath deep into his chest, Elros sat up, pushing his legs over the side of the bed, the more easily to watch her, marveling at the grace of each simple movement. Her beauty was matchless. She truly flowed like a wave of the ocean. Her arms were long and fair, flawless in the dim light, and he longed to stand beside her, running his hands along the soft flesh of her slender arms, whispering words of love and desire into her hair, and feeling her warm response as she turned to him, unafraid, soft, submissive, yet eager, as well.

But she stood some distance away, her back to him. She seemed to pause as if in indecision about something.

Elros watched her. She had remained still for several long moments. He rose to his feet, then paused. If she still felt the uncertainty he had sensed earlier, perhaps he should continue to wait. He had no wish to frighten her, or to make her memory of their first night together anything less than truly glorious. But perhaps- he could simply offer her his help. And if his chivalry pleased her, then perhaps her uncertainties would fade as cold mist before the warmth of the sun.

Elros pushed the thought away, letting it simmer in a corner of his mind, a small, glowing coal of hope as he descended the steps of the dais.

…oOo…

Andreth could feel Elros' eyes upon her as she stood at the side of the small table, and she smiled, enjoying the feel of his eyes caressing her body. But even as she reveled in the warmth of his ardor, a prick of guilt troubled her heart. Their bodies were not yet bound, and despite Elros' assurances, she knew it was because of her fear. He longed to touch her as only a husband could. And truly, she confessed to herself, she wanted it, as well. If it were not for this strange shyness that had seized her, they would already have become one.

She sighed, picked up one of the silver decanters, and lifted the stopper. Beside the remaining bottle, there were four delicate glasses with fluted stems. She picked one up, tipping the silver bottle, and letting its contents clatter into it. Deep, rich, red wine. She swirled the contents and sniffed it, then drew in a timid sip upon her tongue. It was sweet, but strong, heady enough to dull her senses considerably, if she drank much more.

She studied its rich red contents through the clear crystal of the glass. If she drank this glass of wine, perhaps her fears would pass away, and she would be able to share the rest of the night with Elros the way she had so often dreamed.

But she hesitated. For she did not wish for her first memories as Elros' lover to be clouded by dulled wits. And she knew that he would not wish to share himself with her, with her senses and her will so blunted.

Even if there was pain, as Firiel had long ago warned her there might be, she wanted her memories of this night clear, in her heart, body and soul.

She touched the second decanter, noting the cool beads of wetness beneath her fingers as she uncorked it, lifted a second cup, and poured.

Water, clear as the crystal cup into which she poured it, clattered into the delicate goblet. She set it down beside the first.

"You are having difficulty deciding something, my fair wife?"

Despite his voice coming from so close behind her, Andreth was not startled. She had not heard him coming, but even so, his presence was as natural as the moonlight through the shutters over the windows.

Drawing in a breath, Andreth picked up one of the cups, and turned to him.

"Not any more," she murmured, lifting it to her lips, and drinking a sip of the cool, sweet water. It washed over her tongue and slid welcome, down her throat. "Here. Drink."

She held the cup to Elros. He did not take it from her hand; rather, his fingers encircled her own, and with their fingers entwined, he lifted the cup to his lips and drank before drawing back, and looking down again into her eyes.

The longing, the sudden, almost painful hope she saw there stopped her breath in her throat.

Shivering, but only a little, Andreth set the glass again upon the table and turned to look up into her husband's face.

"_Elros_," she breathed, hesitant, before she dropped her eyes.

"_What is it, Andreth_?" He stepped near.

He gripped her waist, and she lifted her own hands, resting them upon his chest. _Ai,_ how wonderful he was, how kind to her, and how patient. These last hours, simply sleeping in his arms, had been marvelous, and had done so much to ease her uncertainty. She could only imagine how difficult holding himself back had been for Elros. Yet he had waited. For her. As her mind mulled over this, her fear, like wax before a flame, began to soften, and melt gradually, slowly, away.

"_I_-," she swallowed. "_I am_-,"

She drew in a breath, then forcing her throbbing heart to calm, she slid a hand up to the throat of his tunic, gently grasped the knotted string, and slowly pulled it.

The knot popped free, and the strings began to loosen and unravel, opening the throat of his tunic, and exposing a small portion of his upper chest.

The motion of his breath froze for a long moment. His eyes softened even as a spark of fire filled them.

Neither spoke, though his eyes remained fixed upon her face, his chest resuming its rise and fall as her fingers began to draw the strings through each eyehole, opening the throat of his tunic more each time, until she drew the string completely free, and dropped it absently to the table, his tunic open to the center of his chest.

Andreth's lips parted. She studied the portion of his chest visible through the slit of cloth before she lifted a hand, and parted it further, brushing her fingertips against the warm, firm skin.

In profound silence, Andreth lifted her other hand, parting the cloth further, her hands pushing the throat of his tunic open, exposing more and more of his sculpted torso, her fingers exploring the taut warm curves of his chest as she slid her hands over the corded flesh, the firm ridges of his collarbones, and then his strong, firm shoulders. The sinews rippled beneath the skin as he shifted slightly, drawing his arms free as his tunic fell easily from his shoulders, and slid unprotesting to the floor at his feet. Without looking, for his eyes were ever fixed upon her, he gently pushed it away with one foot. He stood before her now, naked to the waist, tall, fierce elven warrior that he was, wildly beautiful, achingly desirable, and flawless as a young god.

Her hands slipped from his shoulders to the center of his chest.

Beneath her fingertips, his heart thundered. Her own heart tripped at a furious pace as well. She had seen, and admired, his bare torso before, but she had never touched him, never run her fingers over the sinuous warmth of his hard, muscular body. Until now.

The feel of his skin beneath her fingers, and the sweet, musky scent of him, combined with the vision of him in the fading candlelight and the moonlight that spilled through the shutters was more intoxicating than ever the strongest wine could be. Welcome weakness, mingled with an almost frightening need for him, simmering deep within her, threatened to overwhelm her, and Andreth's hands slid down over his chest and corded abdomen, ever conscious of the taut strength beneath her fingertips, the warmth and the softness of his skin, before her hands touched the hem of his breeches, loose about his hips. A moment passed and her hands fell away to her sides.

Even now, he did not speak. But Elros' chest swelled as he drew in a shuddering breath. Now, his hand lifted and touched her shoulder. Gently, his fingers caressed the thin, sea green fabric there. It lingered a moment before his thumb, trembling against her skin, gently hooked beneath the cloth, and slid it over the soft curve of her shoulder, and partway down her arm.

Andreth drew in a sharp breath at the cool air that brushed her suddenly exposed shoulder as her husband bent his head.

"_For so long I have wanted to do this_," he confessed in a husky whisper. She closed her eyes, feeling his soft breath caress the curve of flesh a moment before his mouth made contact, tasting the naked skin of her shoulder with such gentleness that a soft, involuntary moan, a mingling of pleasure and pleading, escaped her lips.

"_Elros-_,"

To this, Elros lifted his head, his eyes seeking hers, a question simmering in their deep, sea grey depths. "_Andreth-_" he began, though her lips cut his words off as she cradled his strong face in her hands and brushed his lips with her own.

"_You are so good to me_," she breathed.

She drew back enough to find his eyes, delving into hers with a new hope that danced and sparked in their gentle depths, a pleading in his eyes as of one begging for his very life. She spoke three soft words in answer to this unspoken question. "_I am ready_."

Elros' arms encircled her in a moment, crushing her soft body against the hard strength of his own as his mouth captured hers, plundering her lips with feral abandon. The careful restraint with which he had guarded himself for so long, vanished. His power was such that she wondered if she could breath. She wondered if she truly wanted to, lost in the taste of his mouth, the scent of his skin, musky sweet, the feel of his hard strength pressing against her yielding softness-

The glasses on the table behind her rattled in protest as she bumped into them, and Elros, gasping hard, drew back, a very little.

His eyes found her own, and his gaze filled again with concern, grey as the sea, and just as soothing. He did not speak, but she sensed clearly enough that he feared he was taking too much too swiftly, and did not wish to frighten her.

Oh, dearest Valar, he was so good to her, so patient and unselfish. The understanding that he loved her, enfolded and surrounded her, like a comforting mantle. And how deeply she loved him in return!

He smiled, a tender smile of warmest adoration, and Andreth smiled in reply, aching for him now, despite the faint tremor in her limbs. At this, he leaned down once again, and kissed her.

But he did not kiss her now with the wild abandon of moments before. Now, it was gentle, steady, and warmly passionate. Andreth smiled, returning his tender caresses as her hands found his face, her fingers trailing up his jaw, over the outer edges of his ears, finding their pointed tips. As she did, a soft moan escaped his lips as he pulled her more firmly to him, and teased her lips apart, deepening their kiss.

For a long moment Elros' mouth explored her own, before he broke away, and found her gaze, his eyes warm and filled with fire. Andreth only wondered for a moment why he had stopped kissing her before his arms scooped her up, lifting her off her feet as easily as a child.

To this, Andreth circled her arms about his shoulders, reveling in the feeling of his bare skin beneath her fingers, the rippling of his muscles beneath the flesh.

Elros returned her smile, then dipped his head, and caught her lips again, continuing as he had moments before, his mouth searching hers, conveying his love, his longing, and his simmering need. Andreth returned his ardor with her own rising passions, letting her eyes fall closed.

He was moving now, she realized, striding back to their bed, though the warm caresses of his mouth did not slacken.

His steps rose up the tiers of the dais. Again, Elros' lips released her own, and he drew back with a deep sigh that washed across her mouth. A moment later, Andreth felt the softness of the bed beneath her as her husband lay her down. Sheets and pillows cradled her body as his warm, fragrant shadow settled over her, his dark hair tumbling about her in a soft cascade.

She opened her eyes, gazing up at him through the silver shadows. His elbows pressed into the bed on either side of her as he contemplated her worshipfully.

"_My Tindómiel_?" he hissed, his voice thick. "_Are- are you certain_?"

"_Yes_,_" _she gasped, lifting a hand to his face, caressing his ear to the peaked tip. "_What of you, Rau Amin?"_

"_I am yours, my lady_," he said, his voice a soft growl.

"_Then come_," she breathed. as she reached up and circled her arms about his neck. "_Come to me_."

She drew him down to her and their lips met once more.

As the moon continued his journey across the sky, the last vestiges of fear fell away from Andreth's heart, slipping away as the snows of winter melt into spring, as garments reverently removed and cast aside, crumple, forgotten, to the floor.

Elros became in her mind and heart, like the bright, silver moon that sailed above their little sanctuary, far away in the night sky, tender, strong, and real, caressing the delicate, unfurled petals of a young tindómiel blossom that turned her face skyward, longing to bloom beneath the gentle light that was his. Beneath the tender touches and soft kisses of the moon's gentle rays, the yet unopened petals of the delicate flower gradually began to soften. Slowly, so slowly, the petals began to part beneath the moon's patient, silver light. And at last, with a burst of ecstasy, the petals of the young tindómiel unfurled into a magnificent bloom as the light and strength of the moon that she loved, entered her, and filled her soul with delight.

…oOo…

Faint morning light filtered through her closed eyelids, and Andreth smiled as her eyes fluttered open. She turned, lifting her eyes to the face of her new husband, pleased to see his eyes bright and focused in wakefulness, studying her where she lay against his chest, his arms about her, their limbs deliciously entangled.

He stirred as their eyes met, awakening all the points of contact between their bodies, and Andreth's blood stirred, even as she blushed and hid her face against his shoulder, more in pleasure now, than in shyness.

"Good morning, my wife," he murmured, the hand of his arm that pillowed her head gently caressing the soft skin of her back. His other hand touched her face, brushing away a strand of stray hair that fluttered across her cheek.

"Good morning my husband," she returned, lifting her face and smiling. "How long have you been watching me?"

To this, Elros grinned, and drew in a deep breath. "Not long enough. I could never tire of watching you sleep."

Her hand that had until now rested upon his bare chest, slid up to brush a finger along his jaw, and up to the peak of his ear. "You are well?"

He smiled. "A little hungry, but otherwise, I am wonderful," he said. His strong hands drew the coverlet, which had fallen a little, back up to her shoulder, holding in the warmth their bodies shared. "And for that, my lady, I have you to thank."

Andreth grinned at this, and rolled a little away from him, though his arm still pillowed her head, turning to look up at the silver canopy above their heads.

"How are you?" he asked softly.

Andreth smiled at this. "A little hungry also, but I too am well," she murmured, though her brow furrowed as she said this, for though she did speak the truth, she felt- different. Somehow- _changed_.

She drew in a sigh as she felt him roll toward her, and his hand find and caress her bare stomach. "Yet-?" he queried, bending his head and brushing his lips against the exposed flesh of her shoulder.

"I feel well enough," she continued. "But I feel- changed, as if-,"

Elros shifted at this suddenly, propping himself up on one elbow to gaze down upon her where she lay.

His expression became a mixture of alarm and delight, such a contrast, that Andreth could not but giggle a little.

"You have not conceived already, have you?" he breathed.

To this, Andreth laughed aloud. "I don't know," she confessed. "We mortals count our birthing days, rather than our begetting days for a reason, for we do not know for certain when we are conceived. Your foremothers knew the very moment they had begotten the children of their mortal husbands, but would _I_ know? I am mortal; the first woman of the second born to be taken to wife by one whose blood hails from the elder race." Her smile eased. "I do not know what to expect."

To this, Elros released a breath of air, and lay back as well, gazing up at the silver canopy as she did. His arm beneath her head bent, his fingers burrowing into the thickness of her hair.

Hungry though they both were, neither wished to leave the warmth of their bed, or the companionship of the other.

"You will know," he breathed.

Andreth turned her head to see his gentle grey eyes studying her own, and she grew still as she remembered all that had passed between them the night before, the sweet, warm, unspeakably beautiful things.

Elros smiled and caught her hand, turning his lips into her palm to caress the lingering scar there. "The moment you conceive," he murmured, "you will feel our child's fëa within you."

This thought was pleasing to Andreth. She smiled, and turned toward him, settling her head again against his shoulder. "I wonder how long I will carry our children. Elven mothers carry their children a year; mortals but a fraction of that."

"Our mother carried Elrond and me ten months and a fortnight," Elros said.

Andreth sighed. "I suppose then, I will carry our children a little less than that, but more than nine months." She drew in a shuddering breath. "Will my body be strong enough?"

"Yes," Elros soothed, turning his head and pressing a kiss to her brow. "Do not doubt yourself." He smiled, his eyes growing warm. "After all, you are meant to be queen of Númenor. The Valar will uphold you."

Andreth shivered in pleasure at these words, and tipped her head against his shoulder, loving the feel of his warm skin against her cheek.

She withdrew her face when she felt his hand stroke her back, sending shivers of pleasure through her body.

His lips still smiled, but his eyes were inquisitive.

"You say you feel- changed, Andreth?"

She nodded, tipping her head back against his chest. "And I do not think I have conceived. Not yet. It is- something else."

"Describe the feeling to me."

Andreth sighed, and looped her arm over his chest, snuggling more firmly against him, and sighing contentedly as his arms responded, drawing her more firmly to himself. She paused as she struggled for the words to describe the sensation. "I feel- younger, yet older at once. I feel- as if time is passing more swiftly and yet- more slowly than before. It is a funny paradox, I know."

Elros sighed against her hair, and smiled.

Andreth contemplated his silence. "Is this how- elves feel?"

Elros chuckled at this. "I cannot compare the differences between the minds of elves and mortals. I know only what I know. But perhaps how you feel now, is, a little, like the way an elf feels. For myself, I too became conscious of something- some intangible change, once my choice was certain. After the trouble of my poisoned wound had passed away, I became more conscious of the color, the beauty of the world, even of my longing for you; not that I hadn't loved life before," he smiled, "or you, but the preciousness of life itself became more real to me. I thought it was only in my own mind, brought about by the joy you gave me, when you told me you loved me, and our betrothal, mingled with the sobering awareness that I would someday die."

Andreth furrowed her brow. But she did not speak.

"But now as you spoke, I began to think, perhaps, that it was more." Elros sighed. "I think it was a very real change in me because of my choice to elect a mortal life." He sighed. "I will die one day, and because of that, the time I still have is made more sweet." He smiled faintly. "And perhaps more passionate."

Andreth blushed, and drew in a ragged breath before he continued. "But even so, even now, I am not as other men. Though I am all of ninety years, I will live decades, centuries, perhaps, beyond today. I would not want to face those long centuries if you, my love, were not gifted the same length of years. For without you, they would be unendurably bleak. Perhaps the Valar have allowed you a greater length of years, as I have, that there will be no prolonged parting between us. As Lord Celeborn hoped."

Andreth contemplated this, listening to the rhythm of both their hearts beating in harmony. "You think I have changed in that way? Increased in years as you have decreased? That I could live for- _centuries_?" The thought was overwhelming, and humbling.

"I hope so," he whispered.

"But how? How could I have changed?"

"I cannot say." He drew her to him, his hands warm against her body. His jaw brushed against her cheek, and his lips caressed the curve of her ear. "But I think it might have something to do with- what we shared last night." He whispered into her hair, "Our bodies are one now, Andreth. Like our souls." His voice deepened. "And it was more glorious than I imagined it would be."

She trembled at this, and looked up into his eyes, grey as the sea, vast as eternity, and as kind as a spring morning.

"Did I please you?" he murmured.

Andreth smiled and lifted a hand, touching her fingers lightly to the line of his strong jaw, trailing along the length of it, and up to the peaked tip of his ear before she pressed her palm to his cheek. Closing his eyes, Elros turned his head and pressed a hungry kiss into her palm.

"You pleased me, Elros," she breathed. "In ways I could never have imagined in the days of my maidenhood."

"Good." He opened his eyes which had darkened with renewed desire. His voice deepened and grew rough. "For I desperately long to please you again."

"Ai, _Rau Amin_," she sighed, letting her hand fall from his face, her fingertips caressing the sculpted sinews of his bare arm. "My beloved-"

At her words, a soft, eager growl escaped him. Elros' strong arms pulled her to him, his warm mouth claiming her parted lips as he moved to overshadow her. Their morning meal could wait. They had another feast they wished to share.

Above the distant hills to the east, the gentle sun rose at last, washing over the forest treetops, and bathing all the world in golden light. But for all its warmth and brightness, it could not outshine the joy in the hearts of Andreth and Elros.


	48. Chapter 48

Chapter 48

Andreth drew in a deep breath as she stepped through the trees into the small clearing awash in a mesh of shadow and light, spears of sunlight piercing down through the leaves overhead, alighting upon her husband who stood waist deep in the water of the little pool beneath the clattering waterfall. His garments lay a short distance away from the water in a neatly folded pile. He did not see her at first, his back to her, and Andreth paused, admiring his masculine beauty, warming at the thought that the sun had set and risen three times since they had spoken their vows. He stood, now, beneath the clear cascade as it spilled over his head, his arms lifted, his hands running through his long, streaming hair.

Firiel had once told her that it was natural and to be expected that the wild passions of a newly wedded pair would eventually calm, giving way, if their love was true, to a sweet familiarity of quiet joy, even more beautiful than swift, fiery passion. And Galadriel had confirmed that it was so with elves, as well. Andreth understood this, and knew that eventually she and Elros would turn their attentions on the journey they would need to take across the sea, and in serving their people.

The day would come, one day, she knew, when they would not sleep, exhausted, until mid day, from having spent the greater part of the night making love.

But she would never tire of hearing him tell her he loved her, of feeling his touch, or of hearing him praise her with the fair, beautiful words at which he was so skillful. How much she wanted to make him happy.

The muscles of his back shifted and rippled as his fingers raked through his dark hair, his shoulders broad and strong, narrowing to his lean waist and hips that disappeared beneath the water. Water streamed over him, trailing down the smooth valley of his spine, and dripping from his limbs and hair in sparkling droplets beneath the late morning sun that speared down through the canopy. _Ai_, he was magnificent.

The scene was perfect, peaceful and taut with the simmering excitement of a newly wedded bride that she knew now so well. The beauty belied the worry that gnawed at her stomach now, that had begun on her way here, after she had woken from sweet dreams only a few minutes before in their bed, groping sleepily for him only to find warm, empty sheets, and a small note he had left upon his pillow.

_I beg your leave, my beloved one,_ his elegant script had read. _I was loath to leave you sleeping alone, so soft and warm, and beautiful in your slumber. But I confess, nature calls to me, and Nórui and Maidh need attention. I will see to their breakfast, and let them out to wander where they will. They will not go far. If I have not returned upon your waking, I will likely be at the pool at the end of the west trail that we found yesterday, for I am in want of a bath. I would be most honored if you would join me there when you wake. For, as I have already seen, you do great honor to water droplets that are blessed enough to grace your skin when it is bare. And the grass beside the pool as we have already discovered, is very soft._

_I hope you have not yet tired of hearing these words from me, but I love you, my fairest Tindómiel. My life, my heart, my soul are yours. For your love, I am blessed above all the sons of Ilúvatar. _

_Your lion,_

_Elros. _

A postscript after his name had read,

_ Our children will have a wonderful mother. I would be most pleased if we conceived our first child while we were yet on these shores. If it is your will, as well._

Andreth's heart warmed as she thought over his words, though his last had, without intention, begun the seed that had grown into the worry she felt now.

At this, she drew in another breath, and stepped forward.

"My lord," she called.

Elros turned at her words, and grinned as he stepped from under the waterfall, water streaming down his face and through his hair. He brushed his hands over his face, pushing the water from his eyes. "My lady," he called. "You honor me by answering my missive."

He smiled, sloshing nearer to her through the water.

Andreth smiled and stepped nearer. "You honor me by asking," she said. She ignored the stone steps leading down into the water, and dropped to her knees on the bank nearest her husband. "And it pleased me very much."

One edge of the sash of the white dressing robe she wore slipped over the side into the water, and Elros caught the glimmering white sash where it floated, lifting it out, dripping.

"Did it?"

With him in the water, and Andreth kneeling upon the bank, they were at eye level now, and she felt herself warming as Elros' eyes drank her in, his desire for her evident in his gaze.

"Very much," she said. "I will save it forever." Then drawing in a breath, she murmured, "_My life, my heart, my soul are yours_, as well, my lord."

Elros smiled, recognizing his own words. He reached out, and touched a hand to her face, his fingers moist. Trails of water trailed down her throat, but Andreth hardly heeded them as her lips met those of her husband. Her hands reached out and found his shoulders, wet, but warm and firm. Long their mouths searched each other tenderly until at last they drew apart. "_Join me_," he pleaded, slowly tugging upon the silken sash, until the knot fell undone. The hem of her robe fell open, and Elros' hand touched her thigh, beginning to part the cloth.

"In a moment," she whispered, catching the sides of her open robe, and drawing them closed like a timid maiden. Elros' hands withdrew, but only enough to fall, and rest upon her bare knees. He studied her with a furrowed brow and beseeching eyes.

"I must speak to you of something," she pleaded.

"Of course," he said, his eyes suddenly sober, sensing the seriousness of her words.

"What if I-" Andreth bit her lip, and looked away, wondering if she should even ask.

"Andreth, my fair one, what is it?" he asked with such tenderness, that the words spilled from her lips along with her tears.

"What if I never conceive?"

Elros' lips parted at the energy in her voice. Gently, he squeezed her knees, running his hands up until they came in contact with the thin cloth of her dressing robe, and stopped. He seemed as if he wished to speak, but he did not, seeming to sense that she wished to speak more. Gratitude swelled in her heart at the wisdom and kindness of her husband, but still, the worry did not dissipate.

"Firiel never bore children. What if I am as she?"

"My Tindómiel," Elros breathed, his thumbs gently brushing over her bent knees. "Did my post script trouble you? Forgive me. I did not intend for it to do so. Truly, Andreth we have time." A slow breath swelled his chest. "We have been wed but three days," he soothed.

She smiled softly, seeking his eyes, wishing she could be assured by his gentle words. "But you are to be king," she breathed. "My duty is to provide you with an heir, and-,"

"Your _duty_," Elros murmured, cutting her off, and lifting his hands to cup her face, "is simply to be my wife. Do not worry. You were marked by the Valar themselves to be the first queen of Númenor. It was no trick of fate. I do not think you will be barren."

Andreth began again to open her mouth, but Elros' warm finger to her lips gently silenced her. "And what _if _you are?" he continued. "What _if_ you never conceive? What if we live and die childless? Truly you do not think I would love you the less?"

Andreth looked away. "But I ache to bear your child, Elros. I would love to conceive our first child on these shores. And I know that you-,"

Elros' lips gently cut off her words as he leaned in, claiming her mouth once more. His arms went about her, running over the silken fabric that covered her back. His brow pressed against her own a long moment before he drew back, and his deep, sea grey eyes found hers.

"Nothing," he whispered, "would please me more than to give you children. For you would be not only a wise and goodly queen, but also a wonderful mother as well. But no matter what comes, I will always love _you_. Trust the Valar, my love. Trust them as you did, when you accepted my choice."

To this, Andreth's face flamed in sudden realization. She dropped her eyes. "I had forgotten simply to trust them." She released a sigh. "May they forgive me. And may you forgive me too, Elros."

To this, Elros smiled. "There is nothing to forgive, my fair one."

To this, Elros offered her a roguish grin, and reached out, fingering the silken fabric of her dressing gown. Her hands loosened their hold, and in a in a flutter of whispering silk, her dressing gown tumbled off her shoulders.

She closed her eyes, and let herself melt into his arms as he drew her with him into the water.

…oOo…

Talia smiled as she walked through the market of Mithlond. The square fairly teemed with people, most of them mortals, and newcomers to the city, who camped on the outskirts, in the woods or meadows, waiting for the day that Elros and his lady would sail away with them across the water to the new land waiting for them behind the horizon. The thought thrilled her, and set her heart to racing, for the lady Andreth had already said that she could also come. The thought filled Talia with a bright hope, a sense of freshness, and a new beginning. And she was most especially glad, for her friend Hathel was sailing as well.

As if thoughts of him brought him into existence, the crowd parted, and she saw him, seated a short distance away on a low wall between two young boys, speaking to them as he held in one hand, a small piece of wood, and a carving knife in the other.

At the sight of him, her heart lightened, and its beat began to quicken. He had been a good friend to her since her coming to Mithlond, and especially since her father had died.

Since her coming, Hathel had made no overture to become more than a friend. She had heard the rumors that it was because he still felt vestiges of caring for the lady Andreth, with whom he had once been in love before she had chosen the lord Elros over him. But this did not trouble Talia. Not much. In truth, their long, comfortable friendship pleased Talia. Hathel was good and honest, a hard worker, and wondrously handsome as well. Nothing at all like Derk had been. Talia cringed to think of the name. Derk's courtship of her had been a flurried, passionate one of only three weeks from their first meeting at a spring festival in the small hamlet where she had been born. He was not from her little home, and even now, she still did not know of his family, or of his birthplace. Yet now, she knew all about Hathel's. Hathel was the only living child his mother had borne, and both she and his father had loved him and taught him well. His mother had died in his tenth year, and Hathel's father, a stone mason, had taught his son his trade. His father had fallen in the war, and though Hathel had not told her this, Lord Cirdan had told Talia that Hathel had wished to fight has well, but his father had forbidden him. Hathel was her friend, and sought her companionship not because he longed for a woman to cling to his arm, but because he liked her. And Talia, she confessed to herself, adored Hathel for this. Derk had been stiflingly needy, she remembered; his protestations of undying love and devotion had been so wild and pleading, that Talia felt she _had_ to wed him or the poor man would pine away to death. He had not even been handsome; a rather sodden, hunched shouldered man, whom she had thought, if nothing else, to be good, and truly in love with her. She had not loved him on their wedding day, for she had thought that with his devotion being what it had seemed to be, that her love would come eventually.

Talia sighed and dropped her eyes. But Derk's hatred of her had come just as swiftly as his initial claims of love. Within days he had begun finding fault over the smallest things, sometimes over nothing at all as he imagined up some terrible fault, seeking out some reason to be angry. And his beatings and drunken rages had begun before even a week had passed.

Those, Talia remembered, though, were not the worse that he had done. Immediately upon marrying, he had taken her away from her father, far to a small clearing in the woods, and had forbidden she ever contact him, telling her that as her husband, it was his duty to do so for her. He had then claimed that Gondien had gone to Mithlond, the only truth he'd ever spoke, and no longer wished to see her. Derk had in turn, sent missives to Gondien claiming that Talia no longer wished to speak to her father.

What had finally gripped her heart, and given her the courage to slip out of the window and dash into the woods one bitterly cold night after one particularly severe beating and Derk had fallen into a drunken sleep, Talia could, to this day, not say. But something had given her courage, and she had done so, with no more than shoes upon her feet and a ragged shawl around her shoulders that had once been her mother's.

She had not known where to go to find Mithlond; only that it was near the sea. And so she had gone, keeping herself alive by nibbling at what little edibles she could find in the forest, terrified that Derk would find and kill her, and sleeping only in short snatches until she had come to the gates of the city, and looked upon the elven guards.

They must have been astonished at her filthy state, but still they had been kind, answering her questions most graciously as to where she could find her father. They had even given of their own food, and had bidden her sit in the guardhouse and eat her fill before one had guided her to her father's house, and left her in his care with good wishes.

She had found her happiness again, and though her father was gone now, she was still content. Hathel was her friend, good lord Cirdan, though she was not an elf, had given her employ in his house, and she was to go to the great land beyond the horizon when it was time to sail.

Talia came back to the present, and the busy shifting crowds, when Hathel, as if sensing her eyes upon him, looked up. He smiled.

All was well.

"I have been looking for you, everywhere," growled a voice at her ear in the same moment that a hard, fierce grip siezed her arm, and a sharp prick stung her side.

She stiffened, all joy, all sense of safety vanishing in a moment.

"None of that, now," Derk said in her ear, his breath hot. "Make any noise, wife, and this knife will go between your ribs."

"I'm not your wife any more," Talia hissed, though she dared not struggle. For she knew his threat was not an idle one. She despaired. The crowd had shifted, and she had lost sight of Hathel.

"You're my wife as long as I say you're my wife," Derk snarled, following his words with a soft curse. "Now come with me."


	49. Chapter 49

Chapter 49

Hathel's heart clenched in a fist of worry. He couldn't see Talia's face anymore. The crowd had swallowed her up. But he knew something was wrong. She had been smiling to see him, her eyes bright and glad. Which had pleased him to see. But then an instant later, a look of fright had claimed her face as a strange man Hathel had never seen before, moved to Talia's side. And then the crowd moved and she was gone.

He stood up from the low wall where he'd been seated, the small wooden bowl and carving knife still in his hands.

"What's wrong, Master Hathel?" asked Arthon, one of the boys to whom he had been teaching wood carving.

"I-," he stammered, "I don't know." He dropped the little wooden bowl and gripped the boy's shoulder. "But go, both of you, Arthon, and Teren, and fetch some city guards. Tell them that I think Lady Talia's husband is here."

At the boy's furrowed brow, Hathel added, "They will know the import of my words."

The boy nodded, and with his companion at his side, darted away down a small path that led away from the market.

Hathel turned, straining to catch a glimpse of Talia, and her obviously unwanted companion. But he could not see her. Uttering a growl of frustration, he leaped up on the wall where he had been sitting, and looked over the heads.

It was in that moment, that he saw her. The stranger, a dirty haired man with thick bowed shoulders gripped her arm with a fat hand as he pulled her along toward the edge of the market, and the street that led toward the north east gate of the city. She walked stiffly, and Hathel guessed from the way her unwanted companion leaned near, that he held something in his other hand he did not want others to see.

Hathel's blood boiled at this, and his hands clenched into fists even as fear for Talia shot through him like a crackle of lightening. Crushing his teeth together, he set off after his friend and her unwanted companion at a run.

…oOo…

Terror clawed at Talia's throat as Derk pulled her along the street. Ever conscious of the prick of the blade in her side, she dared not say anything, nor even glance about in the hope that she might catch someone's eye. For she knew Derk well enough to know that he wanted an excuse to stab her, and would use the slightest reason to do so.

She swallowed hard, wondering if she should speak, wondering if she should stay silent. What would keep her alive, the longest?

"Let me go, Derk," she choked at last, her voice stiff with fear. "You can't gain anything by taking me back with you."

Derk chuckled softly. She knew he was pleased to hear the terror in her voice. He had always garnered pleasure from seeing her frightened and cowering.

"You're my wife," he hissed through his teeth, the tone of self importance obvious. The sharp blade of the knife he held dug further into her ribs. "What did you think I'd do when I'd found you'd left? Nothing? I've been looking for you ever since. I should've known you'd come here."

"You didn't want me when you had me," she pleaded, her heart throbbing within her. "Not a day went by when you didn't tell me I was a terrible wife, that I made you miserable, that marriage to me was boring, and that you would have been happier with any other woman in the world."

"Well-," Derk paused, and Talia's heart jumped. He had hated the times when Talia's logic had left him without excuse, and not being able to counter her with words, his beatings had only grown worse at those times. Perhaps she shouldn't have spoken. "Well, you're my wife. Nobody else is," he grunted, and shoved the knife more firmly against her.

Talia winced fiercely. The north eastern gate was drawing near. She could see a pair of elven guards standing beneath it, spears in their hands. This was the same gate she had come through, the day she had arrived, seeking her father. Would she be able to catch their attention? Somehow alert them silently, that something was wrong? But those two elven men were not the same ones she had met that day, and the traffic was thick, many Edain were passing in and out. She and Derk would only be two amongst the crowd, and she knew that if she struggled even a fraction she would be dead. But she was certain that once she was beyond the gate, and in the forest, out of sight of any others, she would be dead as well. She was entrapped, and there was no-

From behind her, a figure stepped, silent as a breath of wind, forcing himself between her and her captor.

Her eyes shot up as Hathel, with one hand, shoved her behind him, and with the other, snatched Derk's wrist, and jerked it upward.

"What have we here, Mistress Talia?" Hathel said. She could not see his face, but his words were fierce.

"Remove your hands from me!" Derk's voice had changed, increasing in pitch, an indication that his confidence of moments earlier, had vanished into fear.

"I would be pleased to," Hathel barked back, and with this, brought his other hand forward, his open palm directly in the center of Derk's chest, and shoved the man roughly into the roadway.

"And I would be more than pleased to keep my hands off you, if you agree to do the same for this good woman," Hathel snarled, his fists going to his hips as Talia gaped from behind him at Derk sprawled in the dirt, his face a twisted mask of fear and fury.

"I wasn't hurting her," Derk said.

"You were holding a knife to her side," Hathel said.

"That's a lie!" Derk cried, scrambling to his feet, and stumbling back several steps. He glanced around at the crowd. Everyone upon the street had stopped, and was watching the confrontation with wide eyes. The two gate wardens, noting the skirmish, were trotting toward them, spears in hand.

Derk, clearly trying to garner the sympathy of the crowd, held out his hands, showing them to be empty and wailed, "I had no knife! You lie!"

"Then what- what is this from?" Talia stammered, turning to look at her side, and fingering a hole in the side of her dress. A spot of blood had dampened the cloth. She had suspected that his blade had cut through the fabric, but her brows lifted at the blood. In her pulsing fear, she had felt little pain, and had not even noticed that the blade had broken the skin.

"And this?" Hathel barked, pointing at a small knife, the blade roughly sharpened, its length only half the length of the leather wrapped haft. Easy to hide. Derk had likely made it himself just for this day. It lay in the roadway between Hathel and Derk. And the tip of the blade appeared to be spotted with something dark. Her own blood, Talia guessed.

Derk lunged for the blade, but Hathel stepped over it, as if defending a fallen child. Derk staggered back at this, then with his face twisted into an animalistic snarl, lunged at Hathel, a fist swinging toward the young stonemason's face. To this, Hathel lifted an arm, batting aside Derk's swinging fist as if it were a troublesome fly. Then twisting his torso, his own fist swung forward. His strength, built from years of cutting stone, was obvious as his fist cracked into Derk's jaw, sending the man flying backward. He struck the earthen roadway, and slid several paces before he stopped, then scrambled up, furious and panting, a look of murder in his eyes that melted as he became aware of two men standing over him, elven guards with their spear tips trained on the center of his chest.

"This man was troubling you, mistress?" one called out.

Talia gulped, and stepped from behind Hathel. His hand touched her arm as if his first instinct was to push her behind him again. But Talia lifted her eyes, and offered Hathel a trembling smile, nodding gently as she drew her arm from his grip.

"I was married to him once, but I left him. He was unkind to me."

"That's a lie!" Derk shouted, his face red with fury.

"Is it?" the other guard asked, nodding to the knife that Hathel now bent to retrieve from the dust. "Threatening a woman with a knife seems to me, to be most unkind."

"No better than cursed Eöl," the first guard muttered.

The other guardsman nodded.

"We'll not let her fate be as Lady Aredhel's," he said, then to Talia, "What would you have us do with him, mistress?"

"Escort him to the gate, then bid him leave Mithlond, and its surrounding lands. Do not hurt him."

"As you wish," the elven man said with a nod toward her.

"Come with us," his companion said, his voice measurably less kind than the other guard's voice had been to Talia.

Both elven guardsmen took Derk by an arm, and turned him toward the gate as the passersby, frozen in their tracks, and parted to one side and the other, looked on in silent awe.

"Are you hurt?" Hathel asked turning to her and touching her arm, "aside from this small wound, I mean?"

"No, I'm-,"

"I see how it is!" Derk wailed, followed by a vicious curse, and Talia looked up, startled.

Derk had, for the briefest moment, jerked away from his guards, and had turned toward her, another knife appearing from some fold in his clothing.

"You'll bed this worthless wretch while you're still my wife?"

The guards pounced, but not before the knife left his hand, spinning through the air toward her, the world seeming to slow as the blade spun near her. But before she could react, Hathel shoved her out of the way, throwing up his arm toward the knife.

The knife struck, Talia could hear the distinct tearing of cloth, and Hathel staggered back, his face wincing.

"Hathel!" she cried. Behind her, she could hear cursing and struggling, and knew that the elven guards were dealing with Derk. But she did not turn to look, her eyes fixed only upon Hathel.

He looked up at her, his eyes worried, and she studied his face, his chest, his body, for any sign of blood, or a wound. And then, a slow smile touched his lips as he drew from his torn sleeve, the knife that had snagged there.

"It didn't even cut my flesh," he said, dropping it to the dirt.

Such a wave of relief washed over her, that Talia did not think as she flung herself forward into his arms. "I'm so glad," she said, shivering in pleasure as she felt his strong, gentle arms going around her as well. She sighed, wondering at how pleasant it was to let him hold her. At last, reluctantly, she drew back, smiling up into his eyes.

"Thank you," she said.

Hathel smiled down into her face, his hands finding her shoulders. "Talia, my friend," he said, and his smile softened. "It was truly my honor."

He leaned forward.

Talia's heart caught on a beat before she felt the warm press of Hathel's lips against her forehead. He drew back and smiled again down into her eyes as he said, "You are most welcome."

…oOo…

"You are most fortunate that the good mistress bid us not to hurt you," one of the elf guards muttered as he and his companion stopped beneath the gate, and pointed his spear in the direction of the forest.

Derk, his heart boiling with rage, did not look up, nor speak.

"Now, go," the other elf ordered. "For we would not be displeased to find a reason to disobey the lady's admonition. You are fortunate Master Hathel was not wounded."

"Or you would be dead," the first elf finished. "Now get out. And never return."

Without another word, Derk started for the trees, looking neither right nor left, though he felt the eyes of the elven guards burning into his back.

_The whore. The wretched, cursed woman_. That she would dare to look up at that man, that thick arm swine with such bright eyes, with such a smile on her lips. She was _his_! She had no right to _look_ at any other man, let alone smile at him! The whore. He would get her. One day. Somehow.

Derk, sickened at the feel of eyes upon him, turned off the road as the trees neared, and staggered into the shadows of the forest, stumbling along over roots, and bracken, the shadows quickly grown dark about him. He'd find a way. He'd get her. He'd show her. He'd remind her that she was still his. And then he'd kill her. But not before he'd shown her the severed head of that foolish lover of hers. He'd get them both.

"Yer first mistake, Derk, was in trying to get 'er back when she was surrounded by idiots eager to look like heroes."

Derk jerked his head up toward the source of the voice, fury and fear seizing him in the same instant. He slapped at himself, seeking for a weapon, any weapon as a shadowy figure, not far distance, pounced from the low branch where it had been sitting, watching him, he realized, to the ground.

"Yer second mistake, son of my cousin, was leaving yer wretched weapons behind. Fool boy."

Derk narrowed his eyes, peering at the figure as it- no, he strode nearer.

"Uncle?" he demanded, aghast with recognition. "Uncle Lang?"

"Ai, it's me, boy." Lang stepped forward, so that Derk could see him now in the dim light. "And I could see everything you did just there from my perch in this tree. Yer as great a fool as yer da."

By the powers, Lang looked like a fiend from the pit! Clad in a coat of skins that looked like they'd been torn from the bodies of rats or other small animals, and sewn together in a motley, half rotting mass.

"Where is my da? And where've you been? I haven't seen either of you in a year. Is my da with you?"

"No." Lang stepped back, and shoved Derk roughly in the shoulder. "Your da's dead. Some elf prince killt 'im."

Derk's mouth dropped. His da was dead? Lhûg, killed by some elf? How? Derk scowled, remembering his father's rough hands, and fierce beatings- nobody was stronger than Lhûg. How did somebody kill him?

He scowled as a new sense of fury began boiling in his stomach. Deep within a corner of his mind, a part of himself recognized that it was not so much a sense of grief, for Derk had never loved his father. But rather, it was simply a bitter glee at having a reason to hate someone, to wish for the misery and ruin of another. But Derk would never admit such thoughts in his conscious mind.

"Who killed him?" he snarled. "Tell me, and I'll kill him. And I'll kill his woman, too, if he's got one. And their brats."

Lang grinned, a bitter, unpleasant smile, and he reached out, snatching Derk's shoulder, gripping it until he winced in pain. Lang grinned at this.

"That's what I want ta hear," Lang said. "Come with me. Maybe you can help."

With his fist still gripping Derk's shoulder in a painful vice, Lang turned, and pulled the younger man along with him deeper into the forest.

…oOo…

The grass was warm and soft against her bare skin; Elros' cloak warm over the both of them, his solid, and comforting presence at her side. Andreth lay upon her stomach, her cheek resting upon her folded hands, her eyes closed against the sunlight that spilled down through a break in the canopy above her. Bright and pink against her eyelids. The gentle clatter of the cateract falling into the little pool they'd left not long before, sang a gentle song in her ears.

Beside her, Elros lay propped on one elbow, the fingers of his free arm traced sleepy lines over her back.

She smiled, remembering how timid she had been just days before, yet now she felt no fear, no uncertainty in laying here like this, with him. How pleasant it was, now, simply to lie together, and enjoy the presence of the other, the gentle touch of soul and of body in the afterglow of the passions they had shared but minutes before, here upon this same soft grass.

At her smile, his his hand slid to the small of her back and he bent his head, gently pressing his lips to the soft warmth of her shoulder.

"What do you smile at, my _Tindómiel_?" he asked, lifting his head.

At his gentle question, Andreth opened her eyes. She rolled onto her side, the more easily to face him, then languidly to her back, her heart gladdening as she found his eyes studying her own. His free hand had not broken contact with her flesh as she had moved, and now it rested upon the flat of her stomach, his strong, lean fingers warm against her bare skin.

"At how pleasant it is, simply to lie here, together."

"It is," he agreed, pressing a gentle kiss upon the curve of her ear. "And it was also rather- _pleasant_, a few minutes ago."

She sighed at this. "Indeed it was," she agreed.

Elros' smile eased, as did her own. "You were wonderful, Andreth," he murmured, his eyes taking in her face as if he wished to drink in all the details, and secure them forever in his memory.

"As were you," she breathed.

"Truly, I mean what I say," he said, shifting a little. His fingers tenderly stroked the flesh of her belly.

She propped her head up, observing her husband's expression more clearly, for she realized he was in earnest.

"Indeed," Elros continued. "Andreth, I knew before we wed, that bonding with you would be wonderful. But truly, before these last days, I did not know the meaning of true ecstasy." He released a soft breath that caressed her shoulder. "_Ai_, my beloved," he breathed his voice a gentle growl, "sharing myself with you, experiencing you, _delighting_ you- is- breathtaking. And while the pleasure is truly exquisite, I speak of more than- just the enjoyment of our bodies."

Andreth's hand lifted, touching his face. For she knew exactly what he meant. His hand upon her stomach brushed back and forth a little, renewing a faint stir of desire within her.

"It is the sharing that is beautiful," she murmured, "the pleasure of our bodies, the mingling of our souls, the knowing that we share something pure, and sacred, that is ours, alone. This glorious gift we have been given, to strengthen our love-,"

Andreth's words stopped as something deep within her belly stirred. Not a movement, but a sense of some newness, a sweet change within her, and she closed her eyes, drawing in a sharp gasp at the raw ecstasy that burst within her, flame, a spark, tiny, but strong, and very real.

Her free hand flew to her stomach, and pressed against Elros' hand.

"Elros," she gasped. "_Rau_ _Amin_-," her eyes flew open again, and found her husband's gaze. To her astonishment, tears were upon his cheeks, his eyes shining with a joy she had never seen in him before.

"My husband," she breathed, knowing instinctively what had just happened. "I have just-,"

"You have conceived, my love," he choked, barely able to speak the words before he bent over her, buried his head into her soft hair pillowed about her shoulder, and released a ragged, joyful gasp.

"A son," she added, feeling her own voice choking with blessed tears. "A little boy. A beautiful little boy."

Elros drew his head back enough to look into her eyes, tears dampening his cheeks. "A son?" he choked, and she nodded.

His hand rose and pressed against her face. "He will be but the first of many beautiful little ones," Elros managed to say between his ragged breaths.

"I love you, Elros," she breathed.

"And I love you, Andreth, my bride, my queen," his voice soften, deepened. "_Ai_, indeed, you are my very reason to live."

Another ragged breath jerked in his chest before Elros bent his head, and captured her parted lips with his own.


	50. Chapter 50

Chapter 50

Lang glanced across the fire at his younger kinsman, watching the youth tear at the meat Lang had roasted over the coals. He looked away, sneering to himself, wondering if the boy would devour the meat so enthusiastically if he knew-

"How's that rat meat?" Lang said, turning back, sneering as Derk gagged and choked, spitting meat out of his mouth.

"_Rat meat_?" Derk wailed, flinging the rest of the roasted carcass into the fire. "Why're you feeding it to me then? Tryin' to poison me?"

"I been living off it all winter, boy," Lang chuckled, taking a stick and spearing the roasted rat carcass out of the flames. "Don't be so fast to complain. You were eating it happy enough, a minute ago."

He took the hot carcass, tossing it between his two hands until it had cooled sufficiently, then began tearing into the meat himself.

Derk looked on in revulsion and disgust before turning away.

Seeing his reaction, Lang chewed and swallowed his bite, then gave a scoffing snort. He picked up the bow beside him, and pointed away into the trees.

"I have seen light through the trees that way, for the past seven nights now," he said. "Far away, there's some sort'er clearing. In the daylight, I've seen the horse of the very elf who killed your da roaming near to the clearing. That and another horse. I can't never get near, though, not even to the horses, because they don't stray far. I can see them from a distance, but when I try to go near, whether it's in the day or the night, I always lose my way, and somehow, my sense of direction gets turned around. But I think the elf we want, is there."

Derk dropped his eyes at this, and snorted. "Lost yer way-,"

Lang frowned bitterly at Derk's mirth. "There's some- sorta spell over that- wretched place!" he snarled defensively, and uttered a frustrated curse before he finished, "Some witchcraft over it. Elf witchcraft."

Derk shrugged, and picked up one of Lang's arrows, testing the sharp stone tip on his thumb nail. He shrugged. "Well, he can't stay there forever. So we wait 'til he leaves it."

Lang's brows lifted, and met Derk's sneer across the fire. The young man's eyes were alight like the eyes of a demon. It was just what he wanted to see.

"Then we get 'im," Derk said.

…oOo…

Andreth smiled as she glanced over at the bed, and the sleeping form of her husband, her eyes running over him appreciatively in the dim light of the early morning. The piece of folded parchment she had left for him, lay folded upon her pillow, and he would find it upon his waking.

This was the morning of the seventh day of their marriage. A week had passed, only a week, but it had been filled with such beauty and wonder to fill an entire lifetime. He was her own, and she was his; their souls were one, as were their hearts.

Andreth drank in the sight of his dark hair, spilled about his head, and over his shoulders and chest. His sinuous arms lay against the pillows above his head. His eyes gazed upward at the silver canopy, focused on nothing. The coverlet, laying in rumpled, luxurious folds, covered his legs and hips, leaving the strong lines and curves of his torso visible to her admiring eyes.

She sighed with reluctance as she pushed her arm into the sleeve of the gown she was putting on, and drew the cloth up her arm to her shoulder.

Andreth turned toward the mirror, brushing her hands over the front of the light green fabric. Her hand touched and rested over the cloth that covered the flat of her stomach. She smiled, imagining how it would swell over the next months, wondering when she would feel the first little movements of which other mothers had spoken. Elros' face, she imagined, would brighten when he put his strong, warm hand upon her belly to feel their child's movement.

She drew in a ragged, happy sigh, feeling the faintest glimmer of warmth there; the tiny presence of the child Elros had given her just a few days before, when they had loved each other upon the sunwashed grass beside the sylvan pool. The child was a boy, she knew, his presence unmistakable, though at this moment, he could be no bigger than a grain of sand. Nevertheless, he was the future king of Númenor. He was her husband's heir. But most importantly, he was her child. Elros' child. Their precious little boy.

Though she knew that Elros's words had been true, when he had told her that he would love her no matter whether she bore him children or not, the understanding that Elros' child grew in her womb, filled her with a sense of completeness, of light and joy, and a glowing feeling of purpose, both solemn and beautiful.

She did not wish to leave her beloved. But her fingers itched to try her hand on the bow that Hathel had taught her, to see if this last week of indolence and indulgence had made her archery skills less sharp.

Elros' bow, already strung, leaned near the door, waiting for her, and a small quiver bearing but three arrows. A flute and a lovely harp that she and Elros had found waiting for them at the bottom of the steps when they had returned from the pool that memorable day, sat beside the quiver, both wrapped in protective sheets of soft cloth. She would take the flute, Andreth decided, and the bow and quiver. The harp she would leave here. She would need little else, for she would return soon, hopefully before her husband awoke and missed her. And if he did awake and she was gone, then the few minutes he spent pining for her would make her reunion with him that much sweeter when she returned.

She smiled at the thought, and reached down, picking up the bow, and the nearly empty quiver, slipping the flute in with the arrows. As she did, the long rope of her braided hair spilled over her shoulder, a long, glistening rope whose tip brushed the floor before she straightened. When she returned, Andreth thought, she would enjoy watching Elros' fingers deftly losing the glittering rope of her hair, one loop at a time.

Andreth opened the door. It swung on its hinges silently. Upon the bed, her lover did not even stir.

She cast a final smile toward his sleeping form. He did not move, save for the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

He was so beautiful.

For a moment she froze, seized by a sudden urge to return to bed, to cast aside this bow, these arrows, and peel off these heavy, unwieldy garments. The longing to gather his sleeping head into her arms to wake him with kisses and soft, pleading words of love and yearning, almost overwhelmed her.

But no, she decided, pushing the longing away. She would let him sleep on, for now. She would return to him soon enough.

"I love you," she breathed. Then she turned, and stepped out the door.


	51. Chapter 51

Chapter 51

Andreth drew in a deep, appreciate breath as she moved beneath the trees, her eyes uplifted, drinking in the beauty of the forest, cool shadows accompanied by golden spears of light piercing the green canopy above. The bright calls of birds echoed through the forest.

All seemed at peace, and in harmony.

Andreth reached out, touching a hand to the rough bark of a nearby tree. Within the tree, she sensed its quiet, sleepy soul, and she paused, leaning nearer to the tall, solid trunk of living wood.

Was this how elves sensed the world? Had _all_ her senses grown more elf-like since her first wondrous night as Elros' lover?

Andreth closed her eyes, and pressed her brow to the tree, gently reaching out with her mind, trying to touch its soul. _Greetings_, _friend_, her thoughts murmured.

Andreth smiled as she felt a faint, sleepy touch in return. Something deep within its core stirred. But the peace she'd hoped to feel, was absent. Something was wrong. Andreth's eyes flew open. It was trying to speak to her, warn her-

Before she was even conscious of why she did it, Andreth ducked a fractioned moment before a sharp whistle cut through the air, something slamming into the bark if the tree above her head, quivering harshly. She spun, and her heart stopped within her at the figure that stepped from behind a nearby tree, holding a strung bow in one hand.

As her eyes met his, Andreth's heart nearly failed her. For she knew his eyes, his bitter, calculating eyes. He features were different, but his eyes were Lhûg's eyes. How was this? Had he come back from the dead? A living nightmare; a walking corpse? Terror washed over her at this thought, and crippling weakness seized her limbs. Almost, she let the terror turn her muscles to water. Almost she dropped her bow.

But no. She would not let herself. She would not show him fear. She was not the frightened helpless maiden she had once been. She was stronger, wiser. And now she had a child to defend.

At this thought, a sense of protective fury seized her heart. As the man snarled, and lunged for her, she whipped an arrow from her quiver, nocked it, and drew it to her cheek

Her fingers released the string, and the arrow sped toward him. A sickeningly soft thump met her ears as the arrow punched through the man's arm, spinning him around and onto the ground. A shriek of pain and fury exploded from his lips.

Her arrow had pierce through a pinch of skin upon his arm, the bloody arrowhead visible, protruding from the back of his arm as he scrambled to rise.

She nocked a second arrow with lightning speed, and trained it upon him, her gaze fixed on the cruel, hateful eyes she knew so well. He froze, his lips drawn from his teeth in a growl.

"You're Lang," Andreth snarled through her teeth. "You're Lhûg's cousin, aren't you?"

In her own ears, her voice sounded taut with rage, and despite her fear, Andreth felt a tingle of pleasure, for no hint of fear filled her words. "Your desire for vengeance on my husband is unjust. Lhûg attacked me, and Elros slew him to defend my honor. He did no wrong."

She took a step forward, the arrow still drawn to her cheek. "Leave, or die."

This man froze, pain and fear, washing over the lines of his face as he glared up at her, snarling like an animal. But then his eyes narrowed.

"The words of women are nothing, elf-witch," he growled, and his eyes flashed passed her for the briefest moment, sparking with triumph.

Alarmed, Andreth began to turn, but not before something heavy thudded against the side of her head.

Andreth's senses fled her, draining like water from her body as she crumpled to the floor of the forest. Her arrow and bow clattered useless beside her.

Two shadows moved to stand over her, her blurred vision fading into blackness. _Two_?

"_Get away from her_!" a voice echoed as from far away, and the two shadows spun to face a new presence. Shouting voices echoed about her, mingled with the crack and clash of what sounded vaguely like fighting.

But she could not say, for the last of her thoughts faded, and everything was lost into blackness.

...oOo...

Even before he was fully conscious, something troubled Elros in his dreams.

Andreth was hurt, in danger, afraid. She and the baby- _his baby_-

Elros jerked his head off his pillow, fully awake in a moment.

"Andreth," he groaned, and rolled to his side, reaching out for his wife, needing her; needing to touch her, to gather her in his arms, to feel her, to share himself with her, and reassure himself that it was naught but a dream. But Elros stopped as his hand touched not the supple silk of her warm, bare skin, but crumpled, empty sheets. He blinked, clearing his vision. Upon her pillow, lay a folded note. Innocent enough, but at the sight of it, his heart grew inexplicably cold.

"Elros!" a voice in that moment shouted up from below. "Elros, Andreth, we must speak to you! It's most urgent!"

"Elrond?" he called. Elros scrambled out of bed, snatching up a crumpled pair of loose breeches with one hand, and scrambling into them as he read Andreth's missive with the other.

Footsteps, two sets, pounded on the encircling steps. Both men, from the sound of their boots. Elrond, and one other. What had brought them?

_My dearest one, _read the note,_ I have gone a short way into the woods with your bow and three arrows, for my fingers itch to try some target practice. I also took a flute with me, for I wish to make some music as well. I will see to the horses' breakfast, and let them wander where they will. I will return soon. I hope you are dreaming of me. _

_your tindómiel,_

_Andreth_

_Elros,_ her postscript read in a somewhat hurried script, _Indeed I cannot let them out. Maidh is sleeping late, and Nórui does not wish to leave her alone. I think they are rather fond of one another. _

Nothing upon the note seemed alarming, but Elros could not shake the feeling that something terrible was amiss, his fears compounded by frantic pounding at the outer door.

"Elros, Andreth! May we come in?"

Elros drew the knot of his breeches closed, and tying it as he shouted, "Enter, Elrond."

Two booted sets of feet strode through the antechamber, the second door opened and Elrond appeared with Hathel beside him.

"What's wrong?" Elros asked, snatching up a stray tunic from the floor, and pulling it over his bare chest.

"Where is Andreth?" Hathel spoke first.

"I cannot say," he said. "She took my bow and a few arrows, and left before I woke."

Elros glanced at the note, and deciding that it contained nothing intimate, handed it to his brother.

Elrond snatched it with alarming impatience, and scanned the contents, his face growing ever more worried as he handed it to Hathel. The young mortal's face took on a look of deepening worry much like Elrond's.

"We would do well to find her," Elrond said. "Get your boots on."

Rising alarm gripped his heart, and Elros did as his brother bade him without question.

"Your friend Maglor the bard, bid us come warn you," Hathel said as Elros scrambled into his boots.

"Of what?" Elros demanded as he turned and strode out the door, his brother and Hathel on his heels.

"He spotted Lang not far away from here," Elrond said, his voice short as he rushed to keep pace with his brother.

Elros froze on the stairs, and turned alarmed eyes to his brother.

"And he wasn't alone," Hathel added, one step behind Elrond.

"Who was with him?" Elros demanded, hardly waiting for an answer as he spun forward and doubled his pace down the circling steps.

"Talia's old husband, his name is Derk," Hathel said. "Derk came to the city yesterday, and tried to take Talia away at knife point. Thank the Valar, a pair of city guards stepped in. She bid them not to harm him, and so they sent him on his way at the gate. But now, so it seems, Derk and Lang have joined one another, and are in the forest, and they're near you enough, that it worried Maglor. He came to Círdan's house, and bid us come warn you, then he left to follow them."

Every word they spoke only made his heart throb all the more with rising alarm. He reached the ground. Two horses were there and waiting, saddled, still breathing heavily from a hard ride.

"Maglor chose this glade, because the lay of the land, and the trees make it difficult to find, especially with mortal eyes," Elrond said. "But two pairs of eyes, especially determined, might-"

"_Nórui_!" Elros cried, not wishing to hear the rest of his brother's words.

The stallion came trotting out of the stable, his head high, sensing the alarm in his master's voice. Maidh appeared behind the stallion, curiosity and worry in her large, expressive eyes.

Without bothering to fetch his gear, Elros gripped Norui's mane, and swung saddleless, to his back. He could ride bareback at need, and wished not to take the time to saddle the stallion.

"It seems they're kin, Lang, and Derk, at least Talia thinks so, for she says that Lhûg was the name of Derk's father." Hathel's voice broke with worry as he and Elrond swung to the backs of their mounts.

"Maidh, which way did Andreth go?" Elros demanded of the creamy white mare.

The mare snorted, and jerked her head toward the north end of the clearing.

Without looking back at his brother or Hathel, Elros urged Nórui into a gallop toward the thick trees.

"Elros!" Elrond shouted. "Don't forget this!"

Elros barely slowed, letting the winded mounts of Elrond and Hathel reach him only long enough to turn as Elrond tossed a sword belt to him. Deftly he caught the sheathed weapon, then turned forward again.

Elros' heart sank to think he might have a need for such a weapon, but he only tucked the belted blade close to his chest, and urged Nórui faster. Into the forest shadows they plunged. Branches snatched and scratched at his face, but Elros barely heeded them. Behind him, he could hear the muffled pounding of his brother's mount, and Hathel's struggling to keep up. But they were falling swiftly behind.

"_Let my fears be for nothing!_" Elros prayed silently through gritted teeth. But in his heart, a quiet, heavy premonition weighted upon his soul.

…oOo…

Maglor's blood burned with a fury he had not felt since the kinslayings as he spun the staff in his hands, and brought it down, cracking solidly across Lang's wrist, sending the man reeling back, howling in fury, though he did not drop the heavy tree branch he held.

Maglor scowled, and spun, punching the end of his staff into the stomach of the younger man who lunged at him from the side, using Derk's momentum against himself. The young man's breath exhaled from him in a rush as he staggered back, bent double, clutching at his belly, his knees sagging. Andreth's arrow still protruded from the man's arm, and blood darkened the cloth of his sleeve around the wooden shaft, though the wound seemed barely to hamper him. A quiver lay across his back, nearly empty of arrows, but his bow had long ago been cracked by Maglor's staff. Wheezing, Derk stumbled to one knee. He had no breath. He would be of no consequence, for a few moments at least.

Fëanor's last living son snarled, and turned away from the tottering, wounded youth and back to the older man who leapt at him, his club swinging, but who jerked backward as Maglor's staff slashed at his midsection, barely missing him. The man stumbled back several paces, gasping, giving them both a few moments to breath. The hand Maglor had just struck, Lang held curled against his chest, and Maglor wondered if he had broken it, fiercely hoping he had. His one good eye glared murder at Maglor. His other eye, a dark red welt across his brow and over the bridge of his nose, was swiftly swelling shut. Maglor had left that mark at the beginning of their fight, and it pleased him to see the purpling bruise.

This was a sensation Maglor did not relish, for it brought back unwanted memories, and bitter regrets. Even so, Maglor knew he needed every spark of fire that burned in his blood, to keep this pair of jackals at bay.

As his eyes turned one way and the other, his breath burning in his lungs, Maglor wondered if perhaps, these creatures were not sons of Eru, but rather twisted and soulless mockeries of men of the Second Born, as orcs were twisted mockeries of his own race. Their eyes were hard, filled with bottomless darkness. There was no humanity left in their hearts. He could see that, clearly enough.

"Andreth?" he called over his shoulder, hoping she would respond. But no sound came from where she lay.

Maglor turned fleetingly hoping to see that she still breathed-

Derk, still upon one knee, shifted, only a little, and Maglor jerked back, but not quickly enough as a sharp pain punched into the elf's side. Maglor staggered backward several steps, his eyes dropping down to see a knife hilt protruding from beneath his ribs. Blood was already pooling around the hilt, soaking his tunic.

Derk, staggered to his feet, sneering wickedly.

"Well done, boy," Lang snarled, and both men chuckled darkly.

Maglor blinked fiercely, pressing a hand to the wound, vainly trying to hold back the blood he could feel spilling down his side, hot, and wet. His vision wobbled, and a loud ringing filled his ears.

Sneering cruelly, Lang strode near. With his free hand, Maglor clenched his staff with determination. Whether she was still alive or not, he would fight for Elros' fair wife until the breath was torn from him.

"Die, elf," Lang spat, and lifted his club. Crushing his teeth together, Maglor lifted his staff, knowing it would not be enough. The club swung, stars exploded in his vision, and Maglor felt himself falling into nothing.

…oOo…

"Andreth!" Elros called, his frantic voice echoing away through the trees, praying, with sinking hope, that all was well, and that his fears were unfounded, and that he would come upon her any moment, her eyes startled to see him so distraught.

But when he saw the figure, prone upon the bed of forest leaves beneath a spear of sunlight, his heart sank into black hopelessness.

It was not her, but his fear was nearly as great as his heart stopped in recognition.

"_Otorno_!" he wailed, and flung himself from Nórui's back, scrambling and slipping over leaves in his haste to reach Maglor's side.

The dark haired elf lay facedown, a quarterstaff still clutched in his hand. He did not move. His dark hair hid his face, matted with blood. And from beneath his ribs, a knife hilt protruded. Nearby, an arrow, bearing unrecognizable fletchings, protruded from the side of a tree.

Was Maglor breathing? Was he still alive?

"Otorno?" Elros begged, dropping his sheathed sword, and touching a shoulder.

Maglor moaned faintly, but he did not move, nor speak. Gingerly, Elros brushed aside his blood dampened hair. His face was still, his eyes closed. Blood trickled down his cheek, over his nose in crimson rivulets, dripping into the leaves beneath him.

Elros could see from the faint movement of his breath that he still lived.

"Otorno?" Elros pleaded. "Where is Andreth? What's happened to her?"

But Maglor could not answer.

The thumping of hooves did not lift Elros' head as he bent over Maglor.

"Otorno!" Elrond cried, leaping from Celegben's back, and scrambling to the fallen elf's side. Hathel followed behind, though he stopped short of the huddled group of elves, drawing in a fierce hiss of sympathy.

Gingerly, Elrond rolled his foster father to his back, a ragged sound, like a choke sob, escaping him at the blood on Maglor's face, the knife hilt protruding from beneath his ribs.

"If he is to have any chance to live, I must get him back," Elrond growled softly. "I have to take him to Círdan's house, and treat him there."

"Andreth-," Elros' voice was a choked whisper as he lifted his head, and looked about at the trees, his heart growing hollow. This was the work of Lang and Derk. And why would Maglor confront them unless they were a threat to her?

If he had confronted them to defend her, where was she, now?

"My lords-," Hathel's voice was suddenly soft and fierce.

The rustle of leaves followed Hathel as he trotted a short distance away, then bent, and picked up something from the ground. Elros' heart tightened.

Andreth's little flute. The one she had said she would take with her. She had been here!

"Andreth!" Elros snarled, staggering to his feet. "Dear Valar, where-,"

"My lords-," Hathel's voice was broken, "They went this way."

He pointed at the ground a short distance away from where he stood, his hand rising to indicate the direction the tracks went.

The muscle beneath Hathel's jaw twitched, and his eyes were tortured as he dropped to one knee and touched the ground. "Two sets of feet, one is- carrying something over one shoulder." His voice became a snarling sob. "They're carrying her like a felled deer, the maggots!"

Elros looked across Maglor into his brother's eyes, his soul tortured. "I have to follow them. I must go after them."

"And I'll go with you," said Hathel.

"I have to take Maglor back," Elrond choked. "I have to try- try to save him."

With a heave, Elrond lifted their once foster father, and Elros turned to help him, the unconscious elf's body heavy and limp. Together, they lifted and settled him upon Celegben's back. Elrond mounted behind him, circling an arm about Maglor's chest, holding his limp body on the horse's back. His free hand grasped the reins. Maglor's head lolled back against Elrond's shoulder.

"Take the horses," Elros gasped. "Hathel and I will need stealth from here."

Elrond nodded, his eyes heavy with worry. "Nórui, Antien," he ordered of the two riderless horses, his voice cracking as he spoke, "come."

Elrond wheeled Celegben's head about, his eyes turning down to his brother. Elros could see that Elrond's soul was torn within him. "The Valar go with you, little brother," he choked. "Find her."

And then he heeled his mount's side, and was gone. Hathel's horse followed him, but Nórui hesitated, turned to look at Elros, his eyes seeming to understand all that happened.

"Go, Nórui," Elros ordered, and the stallion turned, and galloped after Elrond.

Elros bent, numb, his soul an empty void as he picked up his sheathed sword, and the staff Maglor had left behind.

"Here," he said, tossing the staff to Hathel. The mortal caught it easily.

Elros nodded. "Lead the way, Hathel," he said.

Hathel nodded, and turned away, his eyes fixed upon the ground as he darted away, Elros on his heels.

…oOo…

The world appeared as little more than a blur at first as Andreth came to her senses, a mass of green wavering before her eyes. The smell of earth and growing things found her nostrils, and as she stirred, she realized that stiff rope bound her wrists together. She lay upon soft ground, thick trees rising all about her. The events that had passed before she had had been struck from behind rushed back into her mind, and she pushed herself up, ignoring the throbbing that fell like a hammer against her temple, nothing else on her mind but escape as she lunged toward the thick trees.

She had run no more than three paces before a tug on her bound hands whipped her around. Her feet flew out from under her, and she crashed to the ground.

"Ha, you're awake," a voice growled.

Lifting her head, her eyes darted about the clearing.

A fire flickered in the center of the clearing, clawing hungry fingers upward. Beside the writhing flames sat a man. He had been gnawing at the roasted carcass of a recent kill, but he turned toward her now, his eyes hard with cruel glee.

"Who are you?" she demanded, struggling to keep her voice from quavering

"_I_ am Lang." The man lifted a hunk of roasted meat, and tore a bite out of it, studying her with only one good eye. A purple bruise had swollen his other eye shut. "Stupid woman." The tortured firelight flickered off of the cruel lines of his features. "The one you thought was me, that's Derk." He scoffed.

The sleeve of his right arm had been torn away, and she could see an ugly gash swelling upon his forearm. How had he been injured? She had not done it. She hadn't even seen him before he struck her from behind- a heavy wooden club lay on the ground at his feet. Upon one side of the heavy wooden head, was a dried, discolored spot- She touched a hand to her own head, feeling a hard, painful lump. He had struck her hard, but he had not broken the skin. That wasn't her blood.

Andreth's breath paused. Someone had come to fight for her in the last moments before she had succumbed to blackness. Who had it been? Elros? Her heart grew heavy at the thought, threatening to sink into despair. Elros would not let them take her away, were he still alive. And what was that- clinging to an uneven protrusion on the wood, in the center of the bloody spot- a tangled clump of long, dark hair.

As if he sensed her growing despair, her captor grinned.

She jerked her eyes away from his sneering face, and lowered her gaze to her hands, studying the long plaited tether that snaked across the ground from her bound wrists to the rock he sat upon. The rope disappeared beneath the heavy stone, pinned beneath its weight.

"Where are we?" she demanded.

"In the forest," Lang scoffed.

Andreth's throat tightened at the tones of his voice.

"Elros will find me," she grated, bracing for his next words.

"I expect him to," Lang snorted. "I imagine he wants you back." His eyes slid over her form, a sneer curling his lips as his eyes sparked with cruel fire. "I would."

Andreth shuddered and recoiled, refusing to meet his eyes.

He reached her, and Andreth flinched and fell back a step, but she could go no further, straining against the tether binding her wrists.

His hand touched her hair, and Andreth clenched her teeth, shutting her eyes as Lang brushed her hair, almost gently, aside. "D'you know how long it's been since I-"

His hand fell, and he dropped back a step.

"You're no elf," he muttered.

Andreth did not speak. She twisted her bound wrists, straining to break away.

"How'd you get one to marry you?"

He stepped closer to her, and again his hand touched her face. "You beguile him with yer charms?" She jerked away, but he caught her chin in his grip. "S'not a surprise he'd take you. Yer more beautiful than any elf women I ever seen." She wanted to wretch on his feet. He was old enough to be her father!

"Lang!"

Andreth jerked at the sound of a man crashing through the brush. A figure tumbled from the thickness of the trees and into the clearing.

Her wild hope that Elros had come to rescue her, crumbled at the sight of the first man she had seen, the one Lang had called Derk, as he darted out of the trees. He stumbled to a stop, his chest heaving. Over his shoulder, he carried Andreth's own bow and quiver, a cluster of fletchings jostling one another.

"What is it?" Lang snapped, lurching to his feet.

"He's coming," Derk gloated, his eyes wild as he pointed behind him. "Just as you said he would." He gulped on a breath. "There's another with 'im. A mortal. The elf has a sword, the mortal, the same staff the first elf had, the one you killed."

Lang laughed, and Andreth's skin grew cold at the bitter cruelty in his tone.

"Who?" she demanded, hearing her voice shiver. "Who did you kill?" Her mind flashed back to Lang's club, the blood, and the tangled, dark hair. "_Who_?"

Neither Lang nor Derk answered, though they traded a sneering glance. Lang tossed the bone he had been gnawing into the fire, and shot a grin at Andreth. His lips pulled back from his teeth in an expression that reminded her of a hungry wolf. Keeping his one good eye upon her, he moved to Derk's side, and pulled an arrow from the quiver. Then returning to the stone that held Andreth's tether down, he bent, and using the razor edge of the arrow head, severed the end.

He straightened, grinning as he twisted the shortened rope in his fist.

"Let's go meet our friends," Lang ordered.

With a snort, Derk turned and disappeared back into the forest the way he had come. But before Lang followed them, he paused, and turned toward Andreth, his eyes cold and hard.

Twisting her tether around his hand, closing the distance between them, he jerked her toward him.

Andreth winced, and struggled to back away, though the rope would not let her.

"It is no wonder that Elros wants you," he growled, his thick breath washing her face. "If we did not have this present trouble to contend with-"

One hand reached toward her, but Andreth twisted away, and spat on his outstretching hand.

She snarled, "When Elros reaches us-"

Lang's hand seized her chin in a painful grip, forcing her to look at him, and his one remaining eye filled with fury. "When he reaches us, I will kill him, and cut his heart out as you watch."

Letting his snarl fade, he released her face, and turned away. "Come," he barked. "It is time to go meet your fearless champion." Yanking her behind him, he turned in the direction Derk had gone, and strode after him, the shadows of the trees closing over their heads.

…oOo…

"Hathel," Elros gasped, his breath like fire coming in his throat as he darted behind the young mortal along the wild animal trail that wended eastward, through the thick forest. "How near?"

They had been running for some time at almost a near sprint without rest save for the moments when Hathel would pause and drop to a knee, studying the ground, or a bent branch across the trail as they followed the faint markings their quarry left behind. The air beneath the canopy felt close and heavy, and sweat weighted and dampened his hair. Elros' feet slapped the earth in rhythm with his labored breathing as he followed the young mortal's lead along the trail, and his muscles burned from the strenuous punishment of their swift run. But Elros cared nothing for the weariness of his body, his every thought fixed upon Andreth, and saving her from the wretches that had her.

_Had they harmed Andreth_? his thoughts demanded as fear ricocheted around in his mind like an angry wasp that could not find release. The dread of what she might be suffering at their hands, burned in the pit of his belly, fueling his anger, and giving him strength that he would not have had otherwise.

In front of him, a generous beam of sunlight washed across the trail, spilling through a wide break in the canopy above them. Before they reached the splash of sunlight, the young mortal's feet skidded to a stop, and Elros slid to a halt behind him, his eyes fixed upon the gasping mortal whose eyes scanned the ground.

"Are we nearing them?" Elros gasped, again, his chest rising and falling as waves of helplessness threatening to engulf him. No longer running hard to ease the fear that raged within him, Elros' blood seemed to boil in his veins, as if his soul would fly apart at any moment.

Hathel straightened and met his eyes, reaching out and clapping a hand upon his shoulder. "We're close. They passed through here not long ago. Look."

Hathel snatched up a slender branch that had fallen on the trail, torn from a tree beside the path. He studied the torn and twisted wood before he tossed the branch away, his eyes scanning the earth as if some message had been written there. Then he gazed at the trees about them, straining to see into the distant depths of their murky shadows, his jaw working beneath his skin. "They are not moving quickly."

The mortal turned, and his smoldering eyes met Elros' gaze. Elros could see his own agony reflected in the man's eyes.

"You know they took her only to lure you out here," Hathel muttered.

"That is my hope. I would rather they hurt me, than her." Elros looked at Hathel, studying the pain and fear upon the mortal's face. Hathel had loved her too, once. He'd willingly given up his hopes for her, but Elros could see Hathel's regard for her had not faded.

"She's with child, Hathel," he muttered.

Hathel swallowed thickly at this, his eyes growing wet and desperate at once. "She-"

"She conceived four days ago."

Hathel looked away at this, his chin trembling fiercely at the words.

"We'll find them, my lord," he said at last, visibly gathering himself. "It won't-,"

Elros lifted hand cutting off the mortal's words as a faint sound found his ears. He looked up, turning his eyes to the profuse growth around them. For a moment, he could see nothing. Then, a movement deep within the trees to his left caught his eye. A figure, indistinct in the green shadows, moved nearer, its movements imbalanced and irregular like the jerking gait of some corpse that had dragged itself from the grave.

Elros drew his sword from its sheath, the whisper of metal upon metal echoing away through the trees. Hathel's fists tightened around the staff in his hands.

"Who are you?" Elros demanded. "Speak!"

"Ho, my lord!" the figure scoffed. "Do you wish to cause harm to your own lady?"

A jolt of fear speared through Elros at this, and he lowered his blade as the figure stepped from the shadows into the light.

Elros' blood grew hot.

"Greetings my lord," Lang scoffed, one muscled arm circled about Andreth's slender waist as she stumbled in front of him, struggled against his hold on her. Her eyes, wide and filled with fear, pled with Elros over Lang's thick hand clamped on her mouth. Her hands were bound in front of her with a strap of dirty leather and it took all the restraint within Elros to keep from flinging himself across the space between them, and tearing Andreth out of Lang's grasp. But as Elros' glance dropped to sharp arrow tucked like a knife into the belt at his waist, he knew he could do nothing. The arrow would be in his hand, and Andreth dead in the moments it would take Elros to reach them. And so he stood his ground, helpless, his fist clenching his sword so tightly that his fingers grew numb.

"We know there's another," he snarled. "Where is he?"

To this, Lang only chuckled.

Hathel snarled. "We've come for the lady, Andreth. Let her go."

"I think not," Lang chuckled. "I enjoy her company." Lang pressed his face against Andreth's hair and pulled her more firmly against his chest. She shuddered, and tried to pull away. "So soft to hold," he murmured.

"_Take your filthy hands off her_!" Elros shrieked, raw fury clawing his throat.

To this, a cold grin parted Lang's lips. His eyes darted to something beyond Elros' shoulder. Seeing what Lang could see, Andreth's eyes grew wide with horror, and with a wild wrench of her head, tore her mouth away from his hand. "Elros, look ou-" she shrieked before Lang's hand clamped over her mouth again.

Elros spun then, saw the figure pounce from the shadows, the twang of a bowstring, the hiss of an approaching arrow. He ducked, rolling to the side as the arrow buzzed past his head, and struck the ground, sending up a spray of earth.

But Elros' relief turned to dust as Derk fit another arrow to the string, of his own bow, Elros realized, and drew it back. An arrow, one of his own, pierced through the upper flesh of Derk's arm. Andreth had done it, he realized, pride flaring fiercely within him. Elros scrambled to rise to his feet, but he saw the arrow flying toward his face, knowing it would make its target.

From nowhere, seemingly, an indistinct blur obscured the arrow. A hard thump, a deep burst of air, and Hathel staggered back into Elros.

Elros caught Hathel's weight as the mortal sank to his knees, his heart growing still at the arrow protruding from Hathel's chest, just below his collarbone.

"_Hathel_!" Andreth wailed, wrenching her mouth from Lang's hold as Hathel tried to regain his feet, but faltered. Elros caught his arm, finding the young mortal's pain filled eyes.

"I should've known," Derk barked, his eyes now fixed upon Hathel. "I know you! Talia's made herself your whore, hasn't she?"

"Talia," Hathel snarled through his pain, "is not a whore."

In answer, Derk laughed. Two arrows remained in his quiver.

"Think you are so mighty now, elf?" Lang growled.

Lava coursed through Elros' blood. He spun to face Lang. The mortal jerked the arrow from his belt. Andreth sucked in a hiss of pain as the arrowhead pressed against the tender flesh of her throat.

"Elros!" Andreth choked, her voice thick with tears.

"Andreth, are you hurt?" Elros demanded. "What have they done to you?"

"I'm-,"

"Silence!" Lang pressed the arrowhead more firmly against her skin, and Andreth winced as a bead of blood appeared beneath the point of the arrowhead, crimson against her smooth throat.

Elros' chest tightening in impotent fury as Lang's eyes gleamed in malicious triumph. He clutched Hathel's shoulder, striving to keep the wounded mortal from crumpling to the ground. Derk still had two arrows left. And the next arrow might find Hathel's heart. Or Andreth's.

"We all know that it is me you wish to kill," Elros growled stepping from Hathel's side as an icy chill knifed across his skin, "let Andreth go." He swallowed. "Let her return safely with my comrade to Mithlond. I will stay, and you can do what you will with me."


	52. Chapter 52

Chapter 52

_"We all know that it is me you wish to kill," Elros growled stepping from Hathel's side as an icy chill knifed across his skin, "let Andreth go." He swallowed. "Let her return safely with my comrade to Mithlond. I will stay, and you can do what you will with me."_

…oOo…

Clutched in Lang's grasp, Andreth's fair face grew pale as ivory, her green eyes, gleaming like jewels, pled with his. _No, _her lips mouthed. Hathel drew in a growling breath of frustration mixed with pain. His feet stirred in the leaves beneath him as Hathel, despite the pain that radiated through his body from the arrow buried deep in his shoulder, staggered to his feet. He took a few stumbling steps toward Elros. Even with his gaze fixed upon Andreth and her pleading eyes, Hathel could see Derk's hand slowly rising toward his quiver once again.

Was the arrow Derk was reaching for meant for himself, or Elros? Or Andreth?

Despite the raging pain that shot through him, Hathel took another step toward Andreth's husband, determined to stay between the elven lord and Derk's arrows. Fleetingly, Talia's face flashed before his eyes. Her eyes were soft, like a doe's eyes. And her brown hair long, and thick. Hathel wondered if it was as soft to touch as it looked.

"Let her go," Elros repeated, moving several steps away increasing the distance between himself and Hathel, though he could no longer see Derk in the corner of his vision. "She isn't the one you want."

"Throw down your sword, elf," Lang spat, his voice low and dangerous. He twisted the arrowhead against Andreth's pale throat, and the spot of blood turned into a long trail of crimson, snaking down over the head of the arrow. Hathel's stomach churned with fury at the sight.

With a snarl, Elros tossed the blade away. It landed in a whisper of leaves, but he did not turn to look. Elros upraised his hands.

"_Let her go, Lang!_" he grated through his teeth.

The twang of a bowstring barely found his ears before an arrow struck Elros' thigh, causing the elf to stagger, a muffled grunt of pain escaping his lips.

"_No_!" Andreth shrieked as Elros stumbled to his knees upon the forest floor. Hathel turned his head, seeing Derk reaching for his last arrow, and fitting it to the string, a snarl like a bloodthirsty beast, curling up his lips in a demonic smile.

Andreth shrieked and jerked at Lang's grip, though his iron hold would not let her go. Faintly, Hathel was glad, for she would fly to her husband if she could escape, and-

The arrow drew to Derk's cheek.

His fingers released, and the arrow sped from the string.

With a half strangled yell, Hathel threw himself forward, his body exploding with pain as he lunged for the flying missile. A sharp crack filled the air, and the sound of shattering, splintering wood, before the staff in his hands struck the ground, Derk's last arrow cracked and broken beneath it.

A roar of fury burst from Derk's lips at this, his blazing eyes turning now to Hathel.

"You interfering wretch!" he shouted, flinging his bow down, and jerking a short, obsidian bladed dagger from beneath his tunic. "You take Talia, that worthless whore away from me, and now-"

Derk lunged toward Hathel, his knife upraised.

His heart bursting into his throat, Hathel stumbled back, dropping to his knees, the leaves crackling around him as he fell. Derk's lips drew back from his teeth as Hathel's hands fell into the leaves. Derk's eyes blazed in victory.

But then Hathel straightened again, Elros' sword in his hand.

Derk's sneer of victory twisted into a mask of despair and horror as Hathel lunged upward, teeth clenched against the white hot pain pulsing through his body, thrusting Elros' sword forward, impaling Derk upon the point of it.

Derk wavered and fell. Hathel jerked the sword free, his soul screaming in a small corner of his mind at what he had just done, though he would not let his thoughts dwell upon it as he turned toward Lang, and held out the blade, not wanting to focus upon the newly bloodied tip.

"You heard my lord," Hathel snarled. "Let her go. Or die."

Lang's eyes that had been widened briefly in horror at the sight of his kinsmen's fall, now narrowed in rage. With a snarl, his arm snaked about Andreth's waist, and he whipped her off her feet, flinging her over his shoulder like a felled deer as he turned and lunged back into the shadows of the forest.

"Hathel, my sword!" Elros shouted, and without thought, Hathel tossed the blade through the air as the elven lord had bidden him.

Elros caught it deftly, and without another moment, turned and dashed after Lang into the trees, swift, despite the arrow in his thigh, and vanished.

Alone now, Hathel turned back to the man he had impaled, his stomach twisting at the blood seeping now from Derk's mouth.

The man looked up at him, his eyes fathomless pools of hate as half garbled curses escaped his lips, his chest jerking in spasms.

"Talia," Hathel said, his throat thickening, "is not a whore."

Derk did not speak but his eyes widened in wild horror as at some terrifying sight only he could see before his chest stopped moving, and the hate in his eyes glazed, and faded, a spark going out.

Hathel turned away from the body, the first man he had ever killed, and staggered, despite his pain, toward the bow Derk had dropped.

If Elros could run with an arrow in his thigh, Hathel could do the same with an arrow in his shoulder.

He picked up the bow, faltering a moment. There were no good arrows left, to-

No. There was one arrow left he could use.

He touched a hand to the shaft of the arrow buried in his shoulder. The stone arrowhead was hooked. It would be agony to pull it out, tearing muscle and sinew along the way. But he would, if he had to.

Turning in the direction Elros had run, Hathel gripped the bow, and started to run, ignoring the pain that raced through his body with every strike of his foot against the ground.


	53. Chapter 53

...oOo...

Andreth's head throbbed, and she fought to remain conscious as Lang lurched on, plunging further into the murky gloom. Little light penetrated the shadows here, for Lang followed no defined path, and the growth overhead and about them grew thick and tangled. Branches scratched her arms and her face, tearing at her unbound hair. Lang's feet pounded as he ran, his shoulder digging into her stomach with each leap.

The world became a blur of confusion as she hung from Lang's shoulder like a felled deer, and Andreth could not begin to guess where she was. Neither could she even discern how far they had gone as her captor continued to run deeper and deeper into the forest.

She was beginning to feel her hold on reality slipping when Lang staggered to a stop, puffing and cursing. After glancing behind him, he flung her, like a sack of grain, down upon the ground. Spongy ground cushioned her rough fall, and Andreth landed winded, but unscathed. Shaking her head, she pushed herself up as well as she could with her bound hands. They were back at the camp where she had first regained consciousness. The fire that had blazed earlier had burned now down to coals.

"Cursed woman," Lang gasped, his chest heaving. "You are too much trouble to keep-"

Andreth looked up and met Lang's cold eyes, struggling to keep the movement of her hands hidden. His fist tightened around the narrow handle of his heavy wooden club, the wood creaking in the tightness of his grip.

"Your elf lover will find you soon," Lang spat, still struggling to regain his breath, "but not soon enough to save you."

With a cruel sneer, Lang bent down toward her, and snatched her hair in one hand as he lifted the club high into the air.

But before he could swing the blade down into her body, Andreth twisted away, pulling him off balance, and though a handful of her hair came off in his hand, ripping painfully from her scalp, Andreth held onto her wits, as she rolled to her back, lifted her feet, and kicked hard, into Lang's left shin, her nearest target.

Lang shrieked, and staggered back falling to the ground, fury and surprise written on his face.

Her booted feet, Andreth noted in a fleeting moment of pride, had torn skin, and drawn blood. Snatching her chance, Andreth scrambled to her feet, and plunged away into the tangled trees, running blindly, praying that she ran in the direction from which she had come.

"_Elros_!" she screamed, hoping her voice carried through the trees.

Behind her, an inhuman howl of rage rolled after her, and the crashing sound of Lang's pursuit followed. If he reached her, Andreth knew, Lang would no longer hesitate, would not take time to brag or boast, but would kill her in an instant. Forcing her mind to stay calm, Andreth prayed as she ran, vaulting over dead, moss-covered logs, and pushing aside the tangle of vines and leaves. Her feet flew, and branches slapped her face, snatching at her hair. Her lungs burned, but still she ran on, the crashing and cursing behind her drawing steadily nearer.

"Elros!" she screamed again before a shadow materialized before her in the gloom.

She staggered back, her terror momentarily keeping her from recognizing him before he spoke.

"_Andreth_!"

"Elros!" her voice was a sob as his free hand seized her bound wrists and his sword found the rope binding them, sawing with feverish haste at the rough binding.

"Thank the Valar I found you!" he choked "I feared he'd kill you before-"

"Elros, he's coming!"

A furious roar reverberated through the trees as Lang's unmistakable silhouette leapt over a moss-covered log, and into her vision.

Elros' face jerked up. He shoved her behind him with unintentional roughness, sending her to her knees as he turned toward Lang and raised his sword, the metal clanging as he dashed aside Lang's club.

"Run, Andreth!" Elros shouted, his voice carrying over Lang's shrieks and curses. "Get away from here!"

Andreth struggled to rise, for it was difficult, her hands still bound. The binding around her hands felt loosened, but she wasn't entirely free, not yet. With effort, she staggered to her feet. But despite her husband's plea, she did not run away.

How could she, when Elros, her beloved, was in such peril for her sake?

Elros, the arrow still embedded in his thigh, staggered, in obvious agony, as he dashed aside blow after blow from Lang's heavy club.

Clearly noting the elf's pain, Lang sneered, and managed to swing a blow, which Elros could not entirely dodge, down upon the protruding arrow, snapping it with a crack.

A snarl of pain escaped Elros, and he staggered, fresh scarlet wetness flowing down his leggings from the point where the arrowhead lay embedded.

"_No_!" she wailed, fearing Elros would topple to the ground. But he did not.

Lang's back was turned to her, and she could see Elros' face. Agony mingled with determination as once again, he dashed the mortal's club aside.

"_Please_ _Andreth_!" he cried. "_Run_! _For_ _our_ _child's_ _sake_!"

"_Elros!_" she sobbed, hopeless. For she knew he was right. For their baby, their son, whose tiny fëa she could feel, even now within her, she had to flee. But how could she? All that was in her, bid her stay, and somehow, some way, save her husband! Valar forgive her, but she _could_ _not_ leave!

A new thrashing of undergrowth found her ears, and she spun, her heart frozen with fear, forgetting, for a fleeting moment, that she had seen Derk slain, before Hathel plunged into view, bow in hand, his eyes sweeping the scene.

"Hathel," she choked, snatching onto his arm. Without speaking, Hathel snatched her bound hands, and started tearing at the bindings round her wrists.

"Help him!" she pleaded. "You have to help him!"

Lang did not see the newcomer, his back still toward Andreth as he forced Elros further and further back across the small clearing.

"I can't, Andreth," Hathel growled, his teeth clenching in pain as he finally ripped the last of the rope away from her hands, and flung it away, thrust the bow into her hands in the same moment, his other hand clutching at the arrow buried in his shoulder. "My arm is too badly injured. The sinews are torn. I can barely move my hand. I could not draw the string fully."

Andreth's heart turned to ashes within her. But then Hathel drew a ragged breath and spoke again. "But you can," he gasped.

Andreth met his eyes, and in that moment, all his lessons washed back over her in a sudden wave.

"You know all I have taught you, and you must use it now," he said.

Hathel winced, and grasped at the arrow embedded in his shoulder, clenching his teeth. "Help me pull it out."

…oOo…

Lang's energy seemed limitless as he lashed out at Elros, who, taxed by the raging pain in his thigh, and the blood that he could feel seeping steadily from it, was falling back. Was Andreth gone? Had she heeded him? He dared not even risk a glance now, and could only pray that she was running, as swiftly as she could away, far away. Perhaps she would find Hathel, and he would take her back to Elrond, and Círdan, and the others. So long as she was safe, so long as Lang could not find her-

Lang seemed to sense Elros' waning strength and a wicked glint shone in his wild eyes as he fought harder, relentlessly forcing the _Peredhel _further and further back.

Finally, a stone connected with the back of Elros' heel, and he went down. Scrambling desperately, he tried to rise again. But Lang, seeing his chance, kicked Elros' wrist, sending his sword tumbling from his hand, and stood over him, his foot on his chest, his club rising into the air. Lang sneered.

A strange whistling sound rent the air, and stopped with a hollow sound thump. Elros stared as an arrowhead sprouted from the center of his enemy's chest. Lang stared down at it in confusion and horror, his body stiffening. His club dropped harmlessly from his hand.

Elros scrambled safely away, and clambered to his feet, gulping in huge draughts of air.

...oOo...

Lang crumpled to the ground. His focused his eyes on the elven man who had risen, and stood on shaking legs, a sorrowful expression upon his angular elven features. His vision blurred as his thoughts faded. He felt himself falling as a wild roaring filled his ears. Tears filled his eyes, and then his vision dimmed, and silence engulfed him.

...oOo...

Elros picked up his sword, and gazed at his reflection in the metallic surface, wishing not to look at the body of the slain mortal that lay but a pace away from him. He could see that the still figure's eyes remained open.

Elros lifted his eyes. Across the clearing, Andreth stood, a bow in her hand. At her side, Hathel knelt upon the ground, clutching at a wound on his shoulder, blood seeping between his fingers, his teeth clenched in pain even as he struggled to grin.

Andreth dropped the bow and smiled weakly as Elros took a staggering step toward her. She stumbled to him, and as he fell to his knees, overcome with emotion and weariness, she fell to her knees as well, throwing her arms about his neck. Peace filled his heart as he wrapped his arms about her, and pulled her close, pressing his face into her sweet smelling hair. And then, inexplicably, a laugh, that was half a sob escaped him, and he drew back, moving to press a kiss to her brow. But Andreth lifted her head, bringing her own face toward his. Elros found her lips in need of warmth, and eagerly pressed his mouth against hers.

…oOo…

Hathel struggled to smile as he watched the reunion of Elros and Andreth. Odd, he thought, that he felt no envy, when he had once hoped that Andreth would learn to love him.

He blinked his eyes, pressing his hand against the blood running from the arrow wound of his shoulder, wincing at the memory of Andreth helping him pull it out. He swallowed, feeling a swell of pride that he had taught Andreth the skill she had used to save her husband.

Hathel blinked his eyes, and struggled to rise to his feet, though he crumpled back, to his knees, his vision wobbling and fading as he did. He shook his head, and looked at his blood wet hand. How much blood had he lost?

His head felt heavy.

"My lady," he called, "my lord- forgive me, but I feel-"

"Hathel," Elros called out as he and Andreth turned to him.

Andreth rose, assisting her husband who, Hathel noted guiltily, had to stagger as he rise, leaning heavily upon his wife.

"Hathel, may the Valar bless you," Elros called, limping, with Andreth's help, toward the wounded mortal. "You are a true friend to us."

"You are wounded, my lord," Hathel muttered, struggling to rise, though his vision wavered as he did, and Andreth had to leave Elros' side to grasp his arm wishing to help him rise, though Hathel shook his head, and waved her assistance off. He knew if he tried to rise, his blood would rush from his head, and he would faint. A most unmanly misfortune if he did. His thoughts flashed again to Talia and a weak smile touched his lips. What would she think of him, if she heard he had _fainted_?

Elros smiled, though Hathel could see concern in his eyes. "As are you, I see, Master Hathel."

"He had me pull the arrow out of his shoulder," Andreth said. "So that I could-," she shuddered as she glanced toward Lang's still figure, "save you," she finished, before hiding her face against her husband's shoulder.

Elros' hand went to her hair, and Hathel's heart softened at the obvious tenderness in the eyes of the _Peredhel_.

His vision wavered, and a distant hum filled his ears.

Behind him, he thought he heard the clopping of horses' hooves, and of voices, taut with concern, calling their names. Lord Círdan? Lord Celeborn?

Hathel tried to call out, to return their worried cries, but the last of his strength left him, and he fell into a wave of numb silence, grateful at least, that friendly hands seemed to catch his shoulders as he crumpled, and ease him gently into soft leaves beneath his head.


	54. Chapter 54

Chapter 54

Aelin paused in the doorway holding a basin of warm water a towel looped over her arm, uncertain if she wished to go nearer to the bed where Elrond stood over the still form of her enemy, Maglor. Elrond's hair was drawn back in a tight tail, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, a heavy apron cloaking his front and his hands and forearms stained with blood. Elrond's broad back and a curtain kept Aelin from seeing Maglor's head, but she remembered it well enough from when Elrond had carried the son of Fëanor into Círdan's house, Maglor's face caked in blood both dried and wet.

Maglor's legs from the knees down were bare, and did not move. A white sheet covered the elf from the knees up.

"How is he, my lord?" she asked

Elrond looked up fleetingly, then back at his patient.

"He is yet alive," he answered, his voice betraying his emotional and physical exhaustion. "It is a wonder his skull was not shattered by that blow. I had to withdraw a piece of wood embedded between flesh and bone."

Aelin felt herself flinch in sympathy as she clasped her hands before her. The poor youth needed to hear the news she brought to ease the strain upon his mind.

"My lord," she said as she turned to the table beside the door, and set down the basin, laying the towel beside it. "Lords Círdan and Celeborn found your brother and Hathel, and Lady Andreth. They are bringing them now."

To this, Elrond's shoulders visibly relaxed, and a deeply heaved breath escape him, though his eyes did not look up from his patient. "Thank the Valar. How are they?"

"Andreth is well, but Master Hathel and Lord Elros were both struck by arrows. Your brother in the thigh, and Hathel in the shoulder. Hathel is unconscious. It is said he pulled the arrow out of his own shoulder, so that Andreth could use it to slay the last bandit. They are both dead, Lang and Derk."

Elrond glanced at her, a fleeting look of astonishment in his eyes before he turned back to Maglor.

"Andreth slew one of them?" he asked.

"Yes, my lord," she returned. "She shot him with an arrow when he was about to kill your brother. Hathel slew the other."

Elrond closed his eyes at this, his jaw growing taut. As he opened them again, Aelin could see the sorrow in his eyes for what Andreth, his _little sister_ had been forced to do. Aelin read the weight of his expression; always the taking of life, of any life was a heavy thing. Her own heart grew heavy, and her eyes strayed to Maglor's bare feet. She was glad she did not know the heavy weight of having slain anyone.

At last Elrond nodded. "Lord Cirdan knew what he was doing when he insisted she learn skill with weapons."

" Indeed," Aelin agreed.

"There," Elrond said at last, his voice trembling as he stepped back, his shoulders sagging in weariness. "The last of the stitches are finished." He turned, a tentative smile coming at last to his face as he strode to the basin. He dipped his bloodied hands in the steaming water, rubbing vigorously as the water turned an oquirre hue. "I must go see to my brother and Hathel, and Andreth. I am most especially concerned for Hathel. Maglor will need to be moved soon to a bed where he can rest and recover. Until then, will you be able to-"

Elrond's hands froze in the middle of a movement as if he suddenly realized the weight of what he was about to ask her, and his eyes flew to Aelin's, uncertain.

"You wish me to watch over him?"

He stammered, "I can find another servant-"

"No," Aelin protested softly. "I will do as you wish. Go now, and see to Lady Andreth, and the others."

The young elf shot her a look of deepest gratitude at this, and without another word, turned and strode out the door.

With a sigh, Aelin glided toward the bed whereon the last living son of Fëanor lay. She felt her shoulders stiffen as she gazed over the curtain and studied his still face. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling steadily beneath the white coverlet.

The side of his head, once matted with dried blood, was cleaned now, and a ragged gash, between his ear and his temple had been stitched closed. His long dark hair, just around the wound, had been clipped short. Aelin understood its necessity, so that Elrond could the more easily treat the ragged gash, but still, she flinched as sympathy touched her heart. No doubt Maglor would understand, and perhaps with his hair hanging free, it would not even be visible, but still, an elf's hair was his greatest pride.

Aelin drew in a deep sigh. Her eye strayed to a small tray of instruments laying by, among which was a sharp, razor-edged scalpel. Her eyes slid toward Maglor's still face, and the steady movement of his pulse in his throat. His life, she realized, was in her hands. Elrond had entrusted her fully and completely, with the life of Fëanor's son. Her enemy.

Releasing a sigh, Aelin moved around the narrow bed where he lay, to more easily to watch him while he slept, and dropped into a chair, her eyes upon his face.

"I will never- _like_ you, son of Fëanor," she murmured, "but I do not hate you. My bitterness is gone. And you have nothing more to fear from me."

Maglor did not respond, and only continued to breath silently. Still, Aelin was glad that she had spoken the words.

…oOo…

Maglor hovered in a land of shadows and thoughts, and half remembered dreams. He felt as if he were in a chamber, a large pillared chamber, but the features were not clear, as if he were not fully present.

_Am I in Mandos_, he wondered, trying to speak, though no sound came to his ears. Was he in bodily form? He felt as if he were; feeling the sensation of arms and legs, but all about him was so vague and dreamlike-

_Son of Fëanor_.

The voice behind him he felt rather than heard, and Maglor turned, surprised at the form of an elf woman behind him. She looked not fully corporeal, though he could see she was elven, and a woman. Behind her Maglor saw other shadows, other elves, souls of elves, he amended, his kin among them, perhaps? But he could not tell, for only she was clear to him. And she so looked like-

_You are the sister of Aelin_, Maglor returned. _Your name is Indilwen_.

The maiden's lips smiled at this, giving him her answer.

If Maglor could have wept, he would have. She was so fair and young. He could not remember her face, but that did not mean he had not slain her. He had slain far too many, whose faces he could not remember. There was so much he could say, he should say. But he could only manage three small words.

_I am sorry_, he pleaded.

_I know_, she offered. _I forgive you_.

Maglor's heart swelled, astonished at the liberating relief he felt at the maid's gentle words. _Your sister misses you_, he offered not knowing what else he could say.

_I miss her also_, she said. _When you return, give Aelin my greetings_. _Give also_, the maiden's eyes dropped, and if a soul could blush, Maglor sensed she would have, _give my greetings to Ereinion. I await the day when I can see him again. Tell him I do not wish to be reborn until I see him again_. _He is more dear to me I have ever told anyone. Even him. _He sensed a tone of regret enter her words. _I wish I had told him_.

Maglor paused. _She does not trust me. H__ow will I make Mistress Aelin know-_

_Remind my sister of the time she and I sat beneath the bows of our favorite tree, and I spoke to her of Ereinion as she wove flowers into my hair. Tell her also, that I have seen her own dear one, Thallon. Tell her he is no longer here. He has not been for sixty years. Tell her he is waiting for her._

Maglor's chest ached at her words, but something pulled away him from the shadowed scene, into something more vague, as if he were now in his own dreams.

___Makalaurë_, I sensed your presence- another voice whispered in his thoughts. He felt himself in a mist, but could not see her. Still, he knew her as he knew his own soul.

_Anoriel_-

_I had to speak to you while you were in this dream realm. How I miss you!_

_And I miss you! _he cried noiselessly into the mist, straining for some sight of her, the scent of her, if nothing else._ But why do you still want me? You know all that I have done._

_Yes_.

_And you still love me?_

_Of course. You were unwise. You and your kin. I will not deny that you were. But my dearest one, your soul has not fallen into darkness_.

_Anoriel! _he cried in his thoughts. _You love me more than I deserve. I have failed you. I am so sorry._

_I know you are sorry. I will wait for you._

_Then I will see you again my love?_ Maglor pleaded_. Some day?_

_I hope so. Something tells me we will be together again. Trust to hope, my love._

_Anoriel, I want to see you. Please. Even if it is only a shadow, only the faintest hint of you, please!_

_I love you, __Makalaurë_, her voice, fading, seemed to call from a distance.

Maglor tried to turn about, to see something of her, some faint hint or shadow, or even the barest hint of her sweet scent-

Then he saw it. The faintest shadow of a woman-

"_Anoriel_?" he pleaded, reaching out a hand. He touched a soft cheek.

"Son of Fëanor, remove your hand from my face."

Maglor withdrew his hand as the voice demanded, and blinked his eyes, the ceiling of the room coming into view. His skin crawled as he realized he was inside a house. Likely Círdan's house. He should not be here. But his limbs were too heavy to rise, and leave. Beside him, somber faced, sat Aelin.

"Mistress Aelin," he grated, his voice feeling rough and dry in his throat.

"Yes?" her voice was not soft, but was gentler than he had ever remembered.

"I have a message for you from your sister."

…oOo…

Hathel's eyes slowly opened, and for a moment, he was uncertain where he was as he studied what he slowly came to realize was the painted ceiling of one of the rooms of Cirdan's house.

"Hathel," the rustle of cloth accompanied the gentle voice of Talia as her lovely face appeared above him.

Hathel smiled up at her, drinking in her face, her dark hair spilling down about her face. He tried to move, but a wild pain raged through his bandaged shoulder, and he winced.

"Don't move," she commanded, her face growing concerned. "Your wound is deep, and will take time to heal. Lord Elrond bid me not let you move it."

"Forgive me, Mistress Talia," he said.

To this, she drew in a breath. "Oh, Master Hathel. I assure you, you have done nothing for which you should be forgive. In truth, you were wondrously heroic."

Hathel felt his face growing warm at her praise.

"Do you think so?" he asked softly.

"I know that you were," she assured him, her voice softening and growing warm.

"The lady Andreth told me all that you did. All that you said."

Talia bit her lip, a faint tinge of color warming her face.

"Thank you for defending me," Talia breath, turning her eyes to the coverlet. Her hands touched it, gently smoothing it over his chest. He wondered if she could feel his heart thumping beneath her hand. "For defending my honor. You are a true gentleman."

A lock of Talia's hair fell against his uninjured arm, and Hathel reached up, and took it between his fingers, rubbing it gently. It felt like silk.

"It was my priviledge to do so, mistress," he murmured.

Her eyes returned to his. Hathel's heart tripped over a beat as the fair maiden touched a soft hand to his uninjured shoulder, then bent low over him, her sweet scent entering his nostrils before her lips, soft and warm, touched against his brow. She drew back smiling, and gazed down adoringly into his eyes, igniting a simmering, welcome sense of hope in his heart.

"Nevertheless, I am grateful," she breathed. And he could see in her eyes, that she was.

…oOo…

Andreth sighed where she sat beside the bed whereon lay her husband Elros, their fingers entwined. Her eyes were locked with his, adoring him silently as Elrond stood on the other side of the bed, tying the final knot on the bandage wrapped snuggly around his thigh.

Looking up, Andreth met the eyes of her brother-in-law and caught his gaze. She returned Elrond's smile, noting though, that his weariness seemed to hang over him like a heavy mantle.

The day had been an exhausting one for him, tending to Lord Maglor, and to Hathel before seeing last of all, to his brother.

The light of the evening sun fell in a slant through the window as the sun sank down, nearly touching the sea.

What an eventful day it had been, she thought to herself as she gazed out, looking across the wide expanse of water toward the horizon, her heart aching toward it. Not many more days would pass and she would get her heart's wish. She would, with Elros, and their people, find at last, what lay behind that distant dark blue horizon.

"My lord."

A young girl's breathless voice came from the doorway where a young maid paused, swaying, bracing herself in the doorway, halting her speed.

"Yes?" Elrond asked, turning, suddenly alarmed.

"The-" the girl gasped for breath. "The Fëanorion has woken. Mistress Aelin said to send for you."

"Of course," Elrond said, turning hastily toward the door. He turned back for a fleeting moment. "You'll be-"

"We'll be fine, brother," Andreth assured him, and he grinned, turned away, and hurried after the girl.

The door shut with a click behind him, and Andreth turned back to Elros, her smile matching his.

Slowly, she rose, and settled on his bed beside him. They were in his chamber rather than the rooms that had been hers, for which Andreth was glad, for she could watch the sunset more easily from here.

"It has been an eventful day, has it not, my fair wife?" Elros murmured as her head settled upon the pillow beside his own. His hand reached over and lost itself in her hair.

"It has," she murmured, sidling nearer to him, and slipping her arm across his chest as she tucked her head against his shoulder. A faint stirring of desire pulsed through her blood at his nearness, but she pushed it away forcing herself to be content simply with his nearness; Elrond had left strict orders that Elros not move his leg any more than entirely necessary for the next several days.

"I am glad you are well," he murmured, brushing his fingers against her face, his eyes adoring her with such warmth that her resolve wavered painfully.

"And I, you," she sighed, leaning near and brushing the faintest kiss against his lips before settling her head again against his shoulder.

"If something had happened to you," he continued, "or to the baby-"

His other hand strayed to her belly, caressing her stomach through the thin cloth of her gown.

"All I could think of, was you, and our little one, of saving you, doing anything I could-"

"Even sacrificing yourself," Andreth added, unable to withhold the shudder that trembled through her body. She blinked hard and hid her face against his shoulder, remembing his shouted plea for her to run, even as he staggered beneath Lang's relentless blows, wounded, the last of his strength draining away.

At this, Elros' arm tightened about her, drawing her closer as if he too pictured the same scene.

"But you saved me," he reminded her. "You and good Master Hathel. We are all well, and all safe."

"And our danger is gone," she said with another shudder. His arm tightened all the more. Despite the residue of fear that still shivered through her, Andreth felt sleep creeping onto the edges of her consciousness.

Were she not so weary, she would have sat up and found the coverlet, folded at the end of the bed. But her eyelids were heavy, and Elros' warmth was better than a blanket.

Content in his embrace, and comforted with the familiar movement of his steady breathing, Andreth let her eyes fall closed, welcoming the gentle boon of sleep.

The warm silence of sleep closed round her, gentle, like a warm mantle, until of a sudden, she became aware of herself again, of the sweet scent of salty water, and the soft whisper of grasses in a night wind.

With a gasp, she sat up. The night sky above them was awash with stars where she and Elros lay side by side upon a gentle slope of grass not far from the edge of the sea where the water whispered softly. The eastern horizon was an unbroken line of dark blue against the night sky.

"Elros!" she cried, and beside her, Elros jerked up into a sitting position as well, regarding her with as much wonder as she did him.

"We're back in our dreamland! In Númenor!" she gasped, scrambling to her feet, and studying herself, clad in the same fair garments she had worn in the dreams when she and Elros had met so often before.

Elros scrambled up as well, reaching for and catching her hand as he glanced about. Turning one way and the other, as if looking for something or someone.

"They are not here," he said. "The Lord and Lady, Irmo and Estë."

"Perhaps they are nearby, wishing for us to join them, that they might give us more instruction?" she suggested.

His hand tightened in hers. "Come."

In long, unbroken strides, he led her up the steep embankment from the beach, and she followed him willingly, marveling that the wound upon his thigh did not remain here in their shared dream.

Together they crested the hill, and glanced about, toward the rising peak of the great volcanic mountain, but aside from the lights of some bright city they could see in the far distance, they could see no living soul near to them.

"What do you make of it?" she asked, turning to face him, taking his other hand as well.

"They would not bring us here, give us this dream to no purpose," Elros said, drawing in, and releasing, a deep breath.

"Indeed," she agreed. "There must be some reason for our being here. Do you-"

A gasp cut off in her lungs as, without warning, Elros bent his head, and silenced her words as his mouth claimed hers for a fleeting, though heated kiss. He drew back, his hands tightening in hers, his expression uncertain, like a youth who had just stolen a kiss from a maiden.

Never before had he dared do such a thing in their shared dreams. Unwilling to do more than touch, or kiss her hand. But then, Andreth's heart grew warm at the realization, they were married now.

Slowly, her lips softened into a smile, and she lifted her eyes, her gaze growing soft as she drew her hands from Elros' and let them rest upon his chest, letting her hands slide up to his shoulders, marveling at the warm contours of his chest which she could feel beneath the cloth, as real as in life.

His own smile softened, his deep, sea grey eyes darkening with unspoken intent as his hands found her hips, then circled around her, and pulled her gently, but insistently to him.

How warm, how real and strong his body felt against her own through the fabric of the garments they wore. Andreth closed her eyes for a long moment, struggling to check her breathing, feeling her blood warm as she sensed his desire for her through their embrace.

"Andreth," Elros breathed, and she looked up at him, a familiar spark dancing in his eyes, "perhaps-"

"Shh, my husband," she breathed, "just kiss me again."

Smiling, Elros let his words fall silent as he bent his head, and did as his wife bid him; and more.


	55. Chapter 55

Chapter 55

Streaks of gold arched across the sky, heralding the coming of the sun, still below the eastern horizon. Gentle wind gusts brushed about Aelin where she stood upon the top of the completed lighthouse, where it overlooked both the river and the bay of Lhûn, her eyes turned westward, gazing out as far as she could see, to the horizon. Even with her elven sight, there was nothing there, but waves. Still, she knew what lay beyond the horizon, and her heart yearned toward it with painful longing.

She turned now, her eyes finding her companion, the High King Gil Galad, who had brought her here to see the completed structure, and the view it afforded.

Her almost-kinsman stood a short distance away, his gaze, rather than looking out toward the horizon, looked downward, and Aelin followed his line of sight to the bay below, where, bobbing upon the glittering surface, waited many fair boats, like graceful swans, the sails furled. Men, like small ants, moved about on their decks.

Aelin smiled at the sight, at once both happy and sad.

"Are you certain you will not also come?" she asked, breaking the silence between them. "Lord Eönwë himself has offered, not just me."

A faint smile touched the side of Ereinion's face, though he did not turn to look at her.

"No, sister," he murmured. "I will stay."

Aelin drew in a ragged breath.

"I have far too much to do, here on these shores," he added, looking up at last, and meeting her eyes. His brows quivered, his eyes pleading with her to understand.

Aelin's heart softened. She could see the little boy in his eyes that she remembered so well, and though he was a king, and she a commoner, she would always think of him as her kinsman.

"And Indilwen still dwells in the Halls of Mandos," he said at last, and dropped his eyes. "So said the son of Fëanor."

Gil Galad dropped his eyes, and Aelin could see the sinew of his jaw tighten beneath the skin.

She lowered her eyes as well, recalling Maglor's words to her, once he had woken.

The last living son of Fëanor could not have been mistaken, for he'd spoken of things only Indilwen could have known.

Softly Gil Galad continued, "I must seek her out, once I too find myself there."

"You think you will-" Aelin swallowed, unable to finish her words.

Gil Galad spoke quietly. "I will not return to the Blessed Realm on the deck of a ship."

A long moment of silence passed.

"But I _will_ return."

He looked up again, and met Aelin's eyes.

"And when I find Indilwen again, I will not delay as I did when she lived on these shores. I will tell her I love her, and ask her for the honor of becoming her husband."

"She will say yes," Aelin murmured, her voice choking softly. "I know my sister loves you."

"And Thallon loves you."

Gil Galad released a ragged sigh, and turned to her, striding to her side. His hands took her arms, and gently squeezed.

"And he will be waiting for you, sister," he said. His grip was strong and comforting, and his eyes told her that he guessed at the emotions that fought within her. "Do not think that your joy is misplaced because my path is different than yours. You are sailing, as you should, and I am staying as I should. You will be reunited with your beloved, and I will be reunited with mine. And when we see each other again, it will seem as if but a few days passed."

In this moment, a glimmer of bright gold peeked over the horizon, lighting the world around them. Gil Galad moved, and circled his arm about Aelin's shoulders. "All will be well, Aelin. Someday. You will see."

And as she studied his eyes in the light of the morning sun, Aelin knew that he was right.

…oOo…

A dreamy sigh escaped Andreth where she knelt before an open trunk upon the floor of the room that had been hers before her wedding to Elros. Beside the trunk, to large to fit within it, sat the small cradle Elros had carved during the winter while he had stayed with Firiel. Everything else that was hers, would fit, though the trunk, at the moment, was only half full while Andreth's mind and heart felt as if they were bursting with thoughts and memories. Lifting her eyes, she gazed about the chamber.

In this room her dreams with Elros had begun. In this room, she had gazed from her balcony northward, missing Firiel, and the sweet scent of earth. From the same balcony she had watched Elros ride away the day after she had realized, with a heart that both sang and sobbed at the understanding, that she had grown to love him. There, beside the fire, she and Elros had knelt, with the cradle he had made between them, where, despite their shared longing, he had found the strength to rise and walk away, and spend the rest of the waning night on the divan in his brother's room. And there upon the balcony they had stood with Firiel, the morning before she had died. Elros had found her, Andreth remembered, still holding Firiel's hand upon the seashore where the old woman had fallen into her last sleep. How tenderly he had carried the old woman's body back to Círdan's house. How strong his arm had been to lean against, as she cried silent tears. How dear a friend, how sweet a lover was Elros. And of all the daughters of Eru Ilúvatar, she had been blessed to win his love.

"Andreth."

At the door, the voice of the lady Galadriel interrupted her reverie, and Andreth looked up from the trunk.

"Are you well?" Galadriel asked, gliding into the room. The lady, Andreth noted, fairly glowed. She had always seemed bright and almost ethereal, but there was more about her now. And as the ladies' eyes met, Galadriel smiled, as if they shared a glorious secret.

"I am, forgive me," Andreth said, rising to her feet, and brushing at tears that had fallen onto her cheeks; she had not realized she'd been crying. "Elrond changed Elros' bandages not long ago, and bid him drink some medicine. He is sleeping now, deeply. I thought I might come in here, and begin packing a few things. Lord Círdan kindly told me that all the dresses and other garments I am to take, as well as this fine trunk-"

She looked down at the trunk, barely half full, and the carven cradle beside it. She felt herself blushing at this. She should have finished by now, had she not lost herself in her reveries. "I was remembering."

"What were you remembering?" Galadriel asked as she moved to the open wardrobe, and drew from the half emptied interior a dark blue gown, folding it over her arm as she crossed back to the mortal lady, holding out the garment to her.

"Many things," Andreth confessed, taking the folded dress from Galadriel, and stooping to lay it in the trunk. "Firiel, my childhood home, the sorrow and joy I felt as I grew to love Elros. Many things."

Galadriel smiled, and reached out, catching Andreth's hand in her own.

The elven lady's touch was gentle, but also strong, and as she studied Galadriel's eyes, a sudden understanding filled her.

"My lady," she gasped, reaching for, and grasping Galadriel's other hand. "You are carrying a child also?"

The lady beamed at this, purest joy shining in her eyes. 'Yes," Galadriel breathed. "A girl."

Andreth drew in a ragged breath at this. "And I, a little boy."

Galadriel pressed her lips together, her mouth trembling as if she would cry, before she circled her arms about the younger woman, and embraced her.

"I am happy for you, Andreth."

"And I for you, my lady."

Galadriel stepped back, her hands still upon Andreth's shoulders. "You knew then?"

Andreth blinked again, striving to clear her vision as it blurred again with tears. "I did. His begetting day was but three days after our wedding. I knew the very moment. How could I, being mortal?"

Galadriel sighed at this, and smiled. She did not answer right away, returning again to the wardrobe for another gown, which she folded over her arm, coming back again to Andreth's side.

Andreth flushed. She should be doing this, rather than the lady.

"Your little one's fëa is strong, I think," Galadriel said, kneeling beside Andreth as the younger woman knelt to settle the folded garment. The lady touched a hand to the carven wood of the cradle, and smiled as she ran her finger over the polished wood. "Though the choice of Elros _Peredhel _has been made, your son's father has in his veins more elven blood than mortal, and within that, is the blood of Maiar as well. Also-"

Galadriel paused, and a hand lifted to touch Andreth's face. "_You _have changed. Have you not, Andreth?"

Andreth blushed, and ducked her eyes. "After- after our hröar had bonded, I did feel- a change in me-" Andreth looked up, meeting eyes filled with gentle understanding. She sighed. "Elros believes that my life will be prolonged, now. Beyond the span of other mortals."

The lady's eyes searched her own, and slowly Galadriel nodded. "Yes," she murmured. "The grace of the elves _has_ passed to you, my dear, goodly _elf-friend_. You will, with your lord, live well beyond the span of mortal years."

Andreth smiled, but then she looked away, her eyes traveling out the window to the balcony. Her thoughts moved to Hathel, to Talia, to Baran and Lómë, and their children. To other mortals she had befriended, the young stone mason and his wife, and their little daughter whom Andreth had helped bring into the world, and whom they had named _Arwen_, Andreth's choice.

"But I would be sad," she sighed, "to live so long, and thus lose dear friends."

Galadriel sighed, and Andreth glanced back to her. The lady's eyes were down, her expression thoughtful. "I do not think you need fear in that regard," Galadriel said at last, and returned her gaze to the young woman's eyes. "For I think perhaps that the Valar will gift a longer life to all of your people, all who go to dwell with you in this new and blessed land."

"I would be so pleased, if that were to be," Andreth said.

Galadriel smiled. "I think it will," she said. And with a sigh, she pushed herself to her feet. Andreth followed her.

Morning slipped gradually into day as the two ladies worked now, side by side, filling the chest together. And always, when Andreth lifted her eyes to meet Galadriel's she saw comfort there, and certainty, and her heart was ever lifted.

…oOo…

Talia stopped short as she stepped through the door of the room, her heart jumping in her throat at the sight of the empty bed. The coverlet had been cast aside, and Hathel was nowhere to be seen. Setting the tray she bore upon the table beside the door, she rushed around the other side of the bed, her heart in her throat, fearing he had fallen. But he was not there.

"Hathel?" she cried, becoming more frightened by the moment as she turned about in the room. "Hathel!"

"Talia!" Hathel gasped, pushing out through the door that led into the bathing chamber. "Are you alright? What is wrong?" His wounded arm, she saw with relief, was still wrapped in bandages, and slung securely against his chest, the cloth white and free of any stain, so the wound had not reopened. His free hand was hastily tugging on something at his waist, but in her frightened state, she was fixed only upon his wounded shoulder.

"_Ai,_ Hathel!" she gasped, relieved at the sight of him. "You frightened me. You should not be out of bed."

"But I needed-"

"If you needed something," she scolded, her relief melting into annoyance as she dropped a hand to her hip and gestured with the other toward the side table, a bowl of steaming soup waiting patiently upon a silver tray. "I could have helped you-"

Talia's words stopped in her throat as Hathel threw back his head and laughed heartily.

"Pardon me, Talia, and turn away for a moment," he said, as he turned his own back to her. "This is hard to do, one-handed."

It was then that Talia realized what he meant, and she spun away from him, flushing furiously, her hands flying to her cheeks.

A long moment of awkward silence filled the air, before she found the ability to speak. "I am so sorry," she said at last, her voice timid and broken. "I suppose there are some things I- cannot help you do."

This timid apology was answered by Hathel's warm voice. "Indeed. I dare say you are right, Talia."

At this, her face only darkened further.

"But do not worry, my friend," his warm voice continued. "Such misunderstandings happen, and you meant no harm."

She felt the scuff of his feet upon the floor, and then a warmth behind her before his good hand came to rest upon her shoulder.

"We are still friends, are we not?" he asked. And his voice was almost timid as he spoke.

"Of course we are," she breathed. "But-"

She turned about, his uninjured hand loosing its hold, though it did not release its contact with her shoulder.

Talia lifted her eyes to his face, her heart thumping more quickly now as she realized how closely he stood to her. His grip tightened gently upon her shoulder. His strength was returning.

Hathel's smile softened. "But- what?"

_But I wish we were more than friends_, she wanted to say aloud.

"But I would feel better, if you were resting, and eating your mid-day meal," Talia said. "As would Lord Elrond, I am certain."

Hathel dropped his eyes. His broad chest rose and fell. "Of course," he said at last, his voice meek.

He turned away from her, and strode across the room, clambering back into bed, and pulling the coverlet to his waist as he sat against the pillows, his eyes upon her face, almost like a child, hoping now for praise.

Talia smiled and dropped her eyes as she turned away, and retrieved the tray of soup from the side table, before crossing the room to the bed.

She felt her cheeks warming a little as Hathel scooted further toward the middle of the bed, making room for her to sit upon the bed beside him. She did, placing the tray upon the coverlet at Hathel's side.

"I know you can do much with just one hand, but at least allow me to help you with this," she said. "I would not wish to thank Lord Círdan by spilling on his fine sheets."

Hathel grinned. "I would not wish it any other way, mistress healer," he said.

Talia smiled at his words, then picked up the silver spoon from off the cloth beside the bowl, and dipped it into the thickness of the soup.

"Ah, this is good," Hathel said as she ladled it into his mouth, thick with bits of creamy potato, and onion. Her own mouth watered. Indeed, it smelled lovely.

"Then have more," she said, offering him another spoonful.

He grinned, and willingly took it.

"I dare say," he said, swallowing, "this meal is nearly as lovely as the company."

Talia grinned at this and ducked her head again, her cheeks growing warm.

"I should make you blush more often," Hathel said.

"Why is that?" she teased back, offering him a third spoonful. "You enjoy my discomfiture?"

"No," he said, a tone of apology in his voice as he accepted, and swallowed the soup. "It is only that-"

Hathel paused a long moment.

"You're very pretty when you blush, Talia. That is all."

Now, it was Hathel's face that flushed warmly, and as Talia lifted her eyes, his own had dropped, unable to meet her gaze.

"Thank you," Talia murmured, setting the spoon down upon the tray, uncertain what more to say.

"You've heard-" Hathel stammered, "you've heard the tales, I'm sure, about my- my failed rivalry with the Lord Elros, for- for Lady Andreth's affections."

Talia remained silent a long moment, her brow furrowed. But inside of herself, something that had felt caged, something very small, but very real, was suddenly set free as he began to speak, and she realized that for so long, she had wanted, _needed_ him to speak to her of his old affection for Andreth. "I have," she said at last, her words a sigh.

"I have a confession, Talia," he said, and his eyes lifted.

"You were in love with her," she murmured. "You cannot be blamed, Hathel. She is very beautiful. And a kind and gentle lady besides."

Hathel's brow twitched. "I _was_ in love with her," he said, his words hasty as if he feared he would bite them back if he spoke too slowly. "Once."

He swallowed and spoke more slowly. "But that is not my confession."

Talia's hands moved to her lap, and she clasped them, studying them intently as Hathel spoke on.

"My confession, Talia," Hathel sighed, "is that I came to be _glad_ that she chose my rival over me."

Talia did not speak, nor did she move, remaining where she sat, her eyes upon her hands.

"Lady Andreth and Lord Elros were meant for each other. I realize that now. And-,"

Talia looked up. Hathel's eyes found hers.

"And _you,_ Talia, are as kind and gentle a maiden as Andreth."

Talia studied the tips of her fingernails. "You know I was married once, Hathel. I am no-"

"You are as pure and untouched as the first snow of winter, Talia," Hathel murmured. "And far more beautiful."

Talia turned toward him, though her eyes lowered, too shy to meet his gaze. She looked down at his free hand where it rested upon the coverlet beside her. Tentatively, she reached out, and touched the back of it, feeling beneath the skin the tendons and knuckles, the hard, but gentle strength that was Hathel. Her heart jumped as his hand responded to her touch, and turned, clasping her hand in return.

"I have come, Talia," Hathel murmured softly, "to realize that- I feel for you something that I did not share with Andreth."

"Perhaps," Talia ventured, her voice as soft as the wind, "perhaps it is because we do _share_- something." At last she looked up, and met his eyes, soft, deep and brown, like polished mahogany.

"Perhaps," she whispered, "what you feel for me is returned."

…oOo…

Elrond sat upon the bottom step of the veranda, his arms encircling his knees like a small elfling as he gazed westward toward the dark blue horizon. He did not wish to rise, to go to the edge of the bluff, for he would be able to see from there, the fair ships, white and graceful as swans, that would carry his brother away. His brother, his little sister, the others of the Edain.

When would he see him again? How long would Elros live, now that the gift of mortality had been given to him? Would Elrond have the chance to see him again, before-Elrond drew in a ragged breath, loath to think the word- _death_ claimed him?

And Andreth? How would she fare? And her child, Elros' son? Elrond's nephew, the first of many great kings of men, the seed of his brother, his dear, beloved brother.

Elrond picked up a small pebble, flat and grey, unremarkable, and studied it a long moment before he tossed it away. He knew now, in the center of his heart, that his brother's seed would forever be in his heart, and in his thoughts. No matter how many ages passed, no matter what they did, he would watch over them. And he would love them.

A soft sound reached his ears from behind. Elrond felt a presence, a quiet whisper as of a voice he had never heard before, but had waited for, all his life.

His heart leapt painfully, and he scrambled to his feet, expecting-

The lady Galadriel and the lord Celeborn approached, regal as ever, though the lady's eyes were filled with greater light, her face with more joy than before.

Elrond smiled as the pair descended the steps, Galadriel's arm looped through Celeborn's. He bowed, partly in respect, and partly to hide the faint blush upon his face. For Elrond well understood the reason for their joy, most especially Galadriel's. And well he recalled the night of his brother's wedding, how he had caught a glimpse of this very pair furtively leaving the festivities.

"You are radiant, my lady," he said. "You look wonderfully well."

"I am," Galadriel said. "We were hoping you were, also."

"I am as well as can be expected."

The expressions of both the lady and her lord softened at these words and they traded a silent look.

"Come with us, Elrond," Celeborn invited him warmly. "We wished to go down into the city, and look upon the ships."

Elrond looked down upon the stones beneath his feet. "I have not yet seen the ships."

"Then come with us, and look at them," Galadriel said. "They are beautiful, like swans upon the water. It would cheer your weary heart. All your patients are resting, and well cared for. You need not stay as a prisoner in Círdan's house."

Elrond drew in a breath, ready to protest.

But then the lady reached forward, and touched his arm. "Please, Elrond."

The words were spoken with the Lady Galadriel's voice. Her face was her own, and her eyes.

But for a moment, as he met her gaze, Elrond fancied that he was gazing into the eyes of another, of one whom he did not know, and yet knew as well as he knew his own thoughts.

"Come with us Elrond," Celeborn added, his deep, warm voice shaking the young elven lord's thoughts. "It will do you good."

Elrond looked away from Galadriel to meet the eyes of her lord, and found himself nodding. "Of course. I will come," he said. For the sweetness he felt, the presence that seemed to live in the air about these two, was one to whom he could never say no.

Galadriel smiled, as did Celeborn. And the silver-haired elf lord clapped a strong hand upon Elrond's shoulder as the three of them started away.

...oOo...

By the time the sun had touched the horizon, Elrond had seen the finished ships waiting in the Bay of Lhûn. They floated lightly upon the water, graceful, and fair, and beautiful as swans, as Galadriel had promised.

The sight filled him with a faint twinge of awe, and Elrond was glad he had come down to see them. For though the sight did make him a little sad, it also filled his heart with a sense of peace, and of hope.

And more than that, something sweet and intangible, an unseen presence seemed to whisper to him, to comfort him and fill his heart with courage, reminding him that whatever sorrow he faced, he was strong. And he would be able to endure.


	56. Chapter 56

Chapter 56

Dear Readers: The story, as you may know, will be ending soon. Which for me, will be both happy and sad. It has gone longer than I expected it to, for which I apologize. Unless of course, you have enjoyed the story being this long. ;)

...oOo...

"_I have come, Talia," Hathel murmured softly, "to realize that- I feel for you something that I did not share with Andreth."_

_"Perhaps," Talia ventured, her voice as soft as the wind, "perhaps it is because we do share- something." At last she looked up, and met his eyes, soft, deep and brown_, _like_ _polished_ _mahogany_.

_"Perhaps," she whispered, "what you feel for me is returned."_

_…oOo…_

"Then perhaps," Hathel offered, his voice deep and soft, "it would not be unseemly to ask your permission to court you."

His uninjured hand gently squeezed hers, and he bit his lower lip, a gesture she had never seen before, but which struck her as boyishly endearing. "I assure you, fair mistress, that it would be a singular honor to be granted your consent to call upon you."

Talia's throat felt dry. Her thoughts flickered to Derk for a fleeting moment. He had never treated her so kindly as Hathel.

"I assure you, kind sir, that it would be _my _honor."

Hathel smiled at this, at the formal tone they had taken in their shared nervousness, and Talia returned it, their smiles widening, until they both offered soft, nervous chuckles.

"Truly," Hathel said, dropping his eyes to their clasped hands, "I would be pleased to be granted permission to court you, Talia."

"And I am pleased to grant it, Hathel," she returned.

Hathel smiled at this, his eyes fixed upon hers. _Ai_, _she_ _could_ _lose_ _herself_ _forever_ _in_ _those_ _eyes_. At last, he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles as graciously as if he were a noble lord.

Talia's body grew weak at this, at the soft feel of his lips caressing the back of her hand. _What would it feel like_, she mused, _to feel those same soft, warm lips against her own mouth_?

She dropped her eyes, blushing again at the thought, and Hathel lowered their clasped hands again to the bed, his thumb brushing over the backs of her fingers.

"Lord Elrond would wish to know that you finished all your dinner," she murmured at last, not daring to look up. "Preferably before it grows cold."

"And I must do as he requests," Hathel agreed evenly.

Talia smiled, and took up the bowl and spoon again, offering him another mouthful of the soup. Now, though, she leaned slightly nearer as she fed him, and her eyes did not leave the deep brown pools of his own eyes until the last bite of soup had been scraped from the bottom of the dish, and Hathel had swallowed it.

"Your eyes remind me of a doe's eyes, Talia," Hathel murmured as she turned away, placing the bowl and spoon back upon the tray with a soft clatter.

She felt herself blushing again.

"When we met, it was one of the first things I noticed about you." Hathel smiled. "How soft and deep they were."

"You know, if I did not know better, I would think that you wanted to kiss me," she breathed.

"I do," Hathel confessed.

But as Talia's eyes fell and her face blushed scarlet, he smiled gently. "But now is not the time," he murmured. I only just won your permission to court you. It would not be seemly to kiss you so soon. And we are in my bedchamber-"

Hathel dropped his eyes.

Talia softly bit her lip. Her heart gave a painful throb. Hathel was unlike any other man who had ever looked on her with desire. He was all that she had ever hoped for in the dreams of her girlhood; wonderfully strong, scandalously handsome, and truly and wonderfully good.

"Am I-" she hesitated, "_worthy _of you, Hathel? You are so unfeigned, so honorable-"

Hathel's hand once again sought out hers where it held the edge of the silver tray. "Talia, I told you that you are as pure as the first snow of winter."

He looked up, his eyes delving into hers. "I meant that." His fingers gently moved over her own.

"Oh, Hathel," she breathed. At this moment, she wanted, desperately, more than she had ever wanted anything, to lean forward and press her lips to his. But he was right. Now was not the time. And the waiting would make their first kiss that much sweeter.

Talia gave his hand one last squeeze, and rose to her feet, the tray in her hands.

"Rest well, Hathel," she said. "Lord Elrond hopes to remove your last bandages in two weeks before we sail. If you do as he says, he will be able to do so."

To this, Hathel nodded and lay back against the pillows, his eyes following her as she glided across the room to the door.

She offered him a smile which he returned. Then she turned away, and pushed out the door into the hall, letting the door fall shut behind her.

In the hall beyond, she saw the lady Andreth approaching from the main hall, a sweet, dreamy-eyed look upon her face.

"Hathel is well?" Andreth asked, smiling as her eyes met Talia's. The lady paused, her hand upon the latch that would take her into the chamber where her husband, the Lord Elros rested.

"Yes," Talia said, the word spoken with a sigh, to which Andreth paused, a questioning look touching her eyes.

"And? My friend, Talia?" the lady who was soon to be her queen asked as Talia glided past with the tray in her hands.

"Lord Elrond says Hathel is healing almost as quickly as an elf, and his shoulder will be hardy enough to remove the sling and bandages by the day we are set to sail."

Andreth's smile grew playful, and she reached out, stopping the maiden with a hand upon her arm. "_And_-?" she insisted, her eyes bright.

Talia bit her lip, hesitant, though at last she spoke, adoring the word as it passed her lips. "I think I am in love."

…oOo…

Andreth sat upon the veranda beside Aelin, her flute to her lips as Aelin accompanied her upon a harp. Andreth's eyes looked westward toward the horizon where sea met sky, and she smiled, both pleased and sorrowful.

_Tomorrow-_

Briefly she glanced down at her stomach, still flat beneath the cloth of her gown. When would her belly begin to swell? When would she feel the first stirrings of life, the first little flutters of movement within her?

Not far away from her and Aelin, the lady Galadriel sat, one arm upon the railing of the veranda, her hand gently caressing the small bud of a single tindómiel flower, not yet open. Her eyes carried a dreamy, far away look. Her other hand rested against her own stomach.

Andreth smiled as her song continued, and turned her eyes, seeking Elros where he stood beside Elrond, the two brothers standing side by side, their arms braced against the railing of the veranda as both looked westward and conversed in low tones.

A ragged breath filled her lungs at the sight of them, and her song faltered for the briefest moment. As she continued to play she studied her husband, admiring the way he filled the fine robe he wore, and enjoying the sweet feeling of warm desire that simply watching him stirred within her. He stood erect without the aide of crutch or staff; this was the first day in weeks that he had walked unaided, for the arrowhead that had struck him, had been buried deep. He still favored his injured leg; she noted this whenever he shifted his weight, but only a little now, and his limp was nearly gone.

Because of his injury, and of Elrond's admonition to let it heal, she and Elros had not shared a bed, at least not as lovers, in over two weeks.

But they had their dreams. And at this thought, a faint, knowing smile touched her lips. For their shared dreams were as real as life, and the solitude afforded them there, had allowed for many tender, passionate encounters beneath the star washed skies of their dream of Númenor.

As if sensing her thoughts, Elros turned briefly, and grinned at her, his eyes gleaming with the light of their shared secret. Andreth blushed over the flute beneath her lips, and returned his smile before he turned back again to continue his words with his brother. As she watched, one of Elrond's arms left the railing, and rose to clap upon his brother's back.

Dear, wonderful Elrond, Andreth thought, her eyes trailing to her brother-in-law. She could only guess how difficult this was for him, with his brother from whom he had never been parted before, sailing tomorrow. And now, with Galadriel and her lord leaving as well-

Galadriel and Celeborn had already announced that not long after Andreth and Elros sailed, she and her lord would be departing, and while Elrond had shown no outward signs of uncertainty or sorrow, Andreth knew him well enough to understand that he honored the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn as if they were his own parents, and she knew he would miss them.

But he still had his friend the king Gil Galad Ereinion, and wise Lord Círdan.

Elrond's face was half turned to her as he looked at his brother, and a smile touched his lips as he talked, for which she was glad. She hoped the smile upon his face was more than for their comfort, and that his heart was at peace. He seemed to be.

Ereinion stood not far away, speaking with Círdan and Celeborn.

In the furthest corner of the veranda, upon a carven bench, Hathel and Talia sat. Hathel's arm still rested in a sling, but Elrond said that he would be able to remove it tomorrow in time to sail. The two spoke in soft tones, and Andreth could not hear what they said. But she could see their joined hands, and the gentle contentment on both their faces.

Andreth smiled as she played, remembering two weeks before, when Talia had confided to her that she thought she might be falling in love with Hathel.

Talia smiled at something Hathel said, and ducked her eyes. The stonemason grinned, and leaned near, pressing a kiss to her brow. He had yet to offer Talia a kiss on the lips, Andreth knew, for they had only been formally courting since the day of Talia's confession. Andreth thought the gesture endearingly delightful. Their first kiss, perhaps on the deck of a ship, or maybe upon the shores of their new land, would be wondrously sweet for them.

Across the veranda, quiet peace reigned, a mantle of gentle sorrow overlain with sweetness seemed to enfold everyone.

Beyond the veranda, a dark head appeared, climbing the stone steps from the shore, and Andreth's music cut short as she looked up. Aelin's soft notes cut short as well, and all heads turned as Maglor paused at the crest of the steps.

The last living son of Fëanor approached the veranda, and paused before he had quite reached the steps. He was clad in his old garments, as worn as they had ever been, though cleaner now, and the jerkin emblazoned with the silmaril was gone.

Aelin told her he had left that morning, silently, slipping like a shadow out of Cirdan's house, and into the blue shadows of the morning twilight. Andreth had thought she would never see him again.

"Please, come up," Cirdan invited, and slowly Maglor climbed the steps, then paused again. Upon his back, he bore a rough pack, through which she could see the shape of his precious harp. A bow, unstrung, and a quiver of arrows rested there as well. His hair hung long and shining, and as Andreth had guessed, she could not tell that part of it had been clipped away so that Elrond could stitch the gash the Fëanorion had earned, protecting her. His eyes scanned the group with a fleeting expression of uncertainty before they alighted upon the Peredhil, and his expression eased.

"_Seldo Titta_," he said. "_Lapse Titta_." His lips drew up into a quivering smile. "Elrond and Elros."

"_Otorno_," both brothers said as one, turning to Maglor.

"I am going, now," Maglor said softly.

Andreth gripped the flute in her lap, and looked on in silence as Maglor's eyes moved again over the group, his expression softened now.

"Thank you, all, for your hospitality," he said softly, nodding to Círdan, to which the bearded elven lord returned a bow of his head, and a faint smile. Maglor's eyes moved to Aelin's, and he nodded his head.

Aelin returned this with a bob of her head. She did not smile, but neither did she look unkindly on Fëanor's last living son as his eyes at last slid to Andreth where she sat. Maglor's expression measurable softened, and his eyes gleamed with new, unshed tears.

"Farewell, Andreth, fair elf-friend," he said, shifted the pack upon his back, and taking a step toward her.

"And you, Lord Maglor," Andreth murmured, rising to her feet. She glided forward, and extended her hand, her smile widening as Maglor took it in both of his own. "May your life be blessed, my lord," she murmured. "The Valar will not forget the good that you have done."

Maglor smiled, though sadly, at this. He squeezed her hands. "Thank you, Andreth. You are as kind as you are lovely. You will make a glorious queen. Elros is blessed."

"As am I," she breathed.

Maglor drew a step back, and his hands slid from her own. Andreth was loath to let his grip go, sensing that this would be the last time she would ever see this gentle son of Fëanor, who had done so much for her.

He turned again to the _Peredhil_, and swallowed thickly. "May I speak to you both for short time?"

"Of course," Elrond said softly, speaking for the both of them.

Andreth looked on in silence, holding her flute in a trembling fist as together, the three dark-haired elves descended the steps of the veranda, and strode together toward the slope that dropped down to the sea. Their hair, like ravens' wings, caught in the sea breeze as the three of them dropped down the stone steps toward the water, and disappeared from her view.

Silence now fell over the group, and Andreth dropped her gaze, feeling the eyes of the others upon her.

After a long moment, she sighed, and looked up. Aelin met her eyes, and lifted her hands, her fingers poised to pluck at her strings. Andreth sighed, and managed a smile then lifted the flute to her lips, and once again began to play.


	57. Chapter 57

Chapter 57

The sand beneath their booted feet left small indentations behind them that slowly filled with water as the three elven men walked in silence along the sand, northward toward the the high knoll that bent sharply toward the sylvan cave where Maglor and his brother had left the little Peredhil to play so long ago, and had not come back. Maglor walked slowly between the two brothers with Elrond on his right hand, and Elros on his left, nearest the water.

His eyes fixed downward, Elros watched the water hiss up the sand, brushing beneath the soles, and dampening the bottom edges of his boots. He felt little more than a twinge in his thigh now as he walked, his limp barely noticable. It would be entirely gone within a few days, Elrond had promised. Elros and his people would be on the open ocean then. His heart both sorrowed and rejoiced at the thought.

The sun rested upon the horizon, casting her tresses across the water as the three elven men paused at the edge of the jutting naith of rising stone.

Together, in silent agreement, the quiet group rounded the rocky wall and started toward the cave they could see, where the waterfall caught the red light of the slowly setting sun casting the light about the green tunnel of trees their path followed.

A short distance from the cave, where the spray of the water reached them and cooled their faces, Maglor stopped.

He stood, Elros realized, in the very spot where he'd stopped when they were children, and bidden them to go play in the pool as he set a pack of food upon a moss-covered log that had once lain where a young tree now stood.

Elrond had gone to the edge of the bank and stopped, but Elros had leapt fully clothed, into the pool. He had laughed as he surfaced, and turned to seek his brother's smile, and Maglor's, but only Elrond had been there. Maglor had disappeared entirely.

He would disappear again today, Elros knew, and in his heart, he understood that this was the last time he would see Maglor until the ending of the world.

As if sensing the young elf's morose thoughts, he felt Maglor's hand grip his shoulder.

Swallowing hard, he glanced toward the face of Fëanor's last living son. Maglor's other hand had come to rest upon Elrond's shoulder, and the elder elf heaved a deep sigh as he looked now at Elrond's face, now at Elros'.

At last, his hands dropped to his sides, closing into tight fists.

"You will sail tomorrow," Maglor said, and as he spoke, his eyes trained upon Elros, his gaze heavy even as a smile of fatherly pride filled his eyes. He did not need to say that they would not meet again, not while Arda lasted. The understanding already weighed painfully upon Elros' heart. "You will ever be in my thoughts."

Elros felt a hard lump in his throat, and he had to drop his face as he nodded. "And you in mine, _Otorno_," he said softly. "In both of ours. We will not forget your goodness to us."

He shot a glance to Elrond who met his gaze with a somber expression of his own, and nodded.

"Your mercy to us will count for something in the eyes of the Valar, one day," Elrond murmured. "You are at heart, a good man."

Maglor smiled sadly. "I am glad you believe in me, my sons," he said. "I will strive all my days to be what you deem me to be."

Maglor choked upon a breath as he met Elros' eyes, his own gleaming with unshed tears. Elros could not speak, his throat too thick to form words as Maglor spoke. "I hope that I will be blessed to cross the paths of your descendants, Elros. And, perhaps, do them some good."

He turned again to Elrond, his eyes filled with pleading tears. He swallowed thickly. "When your years upon these shores have passed away at last, and you sail, will you seek out my wife, Anoriel, and tell her I will always love her? And one day, perhaps not until after the ending of all we know, I will seek the pardon of the Valar, and find her?"

Elrond nodded. "Of course, _Otorno_," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

"My sons," Maglor breathed, and there was a sob in his voice. "I am so proud of the men you have become."

Maglor reached out and clapped a hand upon the shoulder of each young elf. Elros gulped hard, feeling the trembling of Maglor's hand against his shoulder, unable to keep the tears from spilling from his eyes as he drew in a deep and ragged breath.

And in a moment, Maglor's arm was about him. His other arm encircled Elrond as well, and he drew both young men close to him, Elros' tears falling against Maglor's shoulder.

A moment later, he felt Elrond's hand gripping his other shoulder, and he reached out, clasping his brother's shoulder in the same manner, his tears only increasing as he did.

Elros could not tell how long the three of them stood thusly, his head against Maglor's shoulder. But when at last Maglor drew back and their arms fell, Elros lifted his head to find that the sun was well below the horizon, and the evenstar was visible through the trees.

"I have left gifts for you, my dearest sons," Maglor said, gesturing toward the cave mouth as he stood back, sniffing, and adjusting the pack upon his back. "Within the cave. They are waiting there, for you."

Elros and Elrond both looked toward the sheet of falling water and the cave mouth beyond where he pointed. But as they did, a soft brush of air, and the hasty crackle of booted feet upon leaves found their ears, and though they turned swiftly back, they did not so much as catch a fading glimpse of his clothing before the sound of his departure had faded.

Another ragged breath filled Elros' lungs, and the weighted understanding pressed down upon his heart. _I will never see him again, not until the ending of the world_.

Elrond's hand clapped upon his arm, sensing his brother's weighted thoughts.

"Come, little brother," he urged, gently jostling his shoulder.

"Let us see to the gifts _Otorno_ left us, and then we must return. Your lady is waiting."

Elros could see his brother's trembling smile, and he wished to cheer his brother as much as he could. He wished to speak, but he feared to, afraid that his voice would betray him. So Elros merely nodded, and did as his brother bid him.

…oOo…

Andreth stood upon the veranda, a lamp in her hand, watching eagerly for the return of her husband and Elrond. She had been waiting since they had departed, refusing to go inside even when the sun was gone.

Aelin had brought her a lamp, and a light shawl, which she clutched tightly now, a smile brightening her face as she heard the soft scuff of their leather boots upon the stone steps, then saw them rising toward her from the seashore.

Both her husband and brother-in-law looked weary and sad, as she expected them to, but when Elros lifted his eyes and saw her, the lamp in her hand, and the light of it upon her face, he managed a smile.

When they reached the crest of the steps, Andreth set the lamp down upon the railing, and flew to them, first to Elrond, embracing him swiftly, but tightly, barely noting the oddly shaped bundle he carried under one arm before releasing him and turning to her husband.

"Elros," she murmured, moving into his arms, her embrace far more lingering than it had been for her brother-in-law.

She barely noted the soft brush of Elrond's boots as he turned silently away from the pair.

The faint light of her lamp behind her faded as Elrond carried it with him into the house, letting the door shut behind him and leaving them beneath the starlight.

"This is our last night on these shores, beloved," he murmured.

"It is," she agreed.

She withdrew from him long enough to look up into his eyes. The starlight reflected in his gaze, and the soft light of the night brushed the carven angles of his beautiful face in a way that stirred anew a warm swell of desire deep within her. Elros shifted his weight, and held her body all the more tightly against his own, as his arms circled about her, entirely unconcerned that anyone could be watching from the house.

"Come inside," she pleaded, and drew back, pulling gently upon his hand, wishing to lead him inside, back to his room, and to his bed, soft and deep. His leg was sufficiently healed, and they would no longer need to wait for sleep to-

"My lady," he protested gently, drawing her back, and Andreth's gentle tug ceased as she let him draw her back to him, her eyes uplifted, studying the gentle smile upon his face.

"Let us not go inside," he breathed, his lips drawing up in a faint grin, his eyes dancing softly. "At least not right now."

He leaned forward and whispered softly, almost as if he feared being overheard, "_Come with me- to our cave_."

Andreth's heart jumped at this, and then a warm blush stole over her face as she imagined this beautiful elven warrior making love to her within the sheltering embrace of its shadows, the gentle waterfall clattering nearby. Many things had happened there; beautiful and sorrowful things, but mostly beautiful. They had already shared much there, in the soft, sacred confines of its protective walls. It would be fitting, Andreth thought, to farewell the little cave in such a way as Elros wished.

"The night is a little cold," she murmured, her words spoken for nothing else but to hear his answer.

"There is a fire kindled there already," he breathed. He smiled and added in a soft growl, "And even when it has faded into coals, I will warm you."

He bent his head to brush a teasing kiss against her lips. "Maglor also left gifts. Will you come with me, and see them?"

Andreth shivered. His fleeting kiss had left her in an agony of longing, and that, mingled with the curiosity of gifts, left her beyond all help.

"Yes," she pleaded. "I will."

…oOo…

Andreth sighed and arched her back wearily, reaching for, and finding, Elros' strong shoulder where he lay beside her.

The fire he had promised was indeed dying, its lowering light flickering off the ragged stone walls of the cave, no longer lighting the ceiling as brightly as it had in the past hour. Neither husband nor wife wished to rise and stoke it though; they were warm enough, as Elros had promised.

"A sheepskin," she murmured dreamily, half given to her dreams as she snuggled closer to him beneath his cloak which overspread them both, their bodies also cradled within the luxurious fur of an expansive sheepskin spread upon the floor which Maglor had left as his gift to Elros. "It is a lovely gift."

"Mm," Elros agreed his arm circling about her and drawing her body more firmly against his own, the other arm moving to cradle her head. "He left messages, which said it was the tanned skin of an old ram one of the chieftains of the people of Hador gifted to him as thanks for saving you."

"So soft," Andreth purred.

"Not so soft as you, my beautiful one," he growled warmly as he bent his head and pressed a gentle kiss to her throat.

Andreth sighed, running her hand appreciatively over the hard contours of his muscled arm. "What did he give Elrond?"

"A bear skin." Elros said, and drew back enough to grin down into her eyes. "A cantankerous old fellow he met in the deep winter, so his note said, who thought Maglor would make a fitting meal. Of course, Maglor disagreed."

Andreth smiled at his words.

"Thank you for bringing me here, my husband," she murmured. "This is a most lovely memory we are making before we sail away, tomorrow."

"Indeed," he agreed with a low breath.

She sighed. "I wish we could take this all with us."

"As do I," Elros sighed. "But there are doubtless many caves and waterfalls in our new home. I am certain we will find the time to seek them out, in between our duties."

"And we must find the beach where we first met in our dreams," Andreth added.

"Most certainly," Elros agreed. "We will find that, first. And there, I will build you a little cottage, and whenever our duties permit, we will go there, and we will share nights, just like this." Elros sighed and added, "Nights and days, and weeks and years. Just like this."

Andreth sighed, and gazed up into his eyes. "I love you," she murmured.

Elros smiled softly, "I love you," he echoed, and added as he bent his head to claim her lips again, "more than all the gleaming jewels of Tirion."

The waterfall continued its soft, everlasting song as the fire died down into red, whispering coals. But neither Elros nor Andreth gave it heed.


	58. Chapter 58

...oOo...

Chapter 58

The cry of gulls filled the air, and the full, sweet scent of the ocean filled her lungs as Andreth stood upon the quay, her eyes gazing westward, out toward the horizon she could see between the arms of land that enclosed the bay.

Like so many swans riding lightly upon the water, the ships that would bear Elros and her, as well as their people across the vast sea to their new land, floated patiently upon the water, bobbing gently with the swells.

She turned her eyes to the northern arm of the bay, the finished lighthouse stood where she had first met Lord Círdan the day she had come to Mithlond, so flustered at their first meeting, and smiling as she recalled the reason why. Elros, naked to the waist as he worked, his muscles shifting gracefully beneath his lightly tanned skin stirring within her, the embers of simmering longing. She smiled at the memory, though she did not linger long on it, warm though it was, remembering her task.

All along the wharf crowds were gathered, the Edain, burdened with packs upon their backs, or their arms loaded with belongings, or with children, climbing the wooden gangplanks that led up onto the decks of the fair ships that would carry them from the bay when the tide was ready.

She touched a hand to the pack she held at her own side, the precious seeds of the athelas that she held charge of, that she would plant, and nurture in their new land. Which, she hoped, would bless uncounted generations in centuries to come.

Not far from her feet, the edge of a gangplank rested upon the edge of the quay, leading up to the deck of one of the ships that rose and fell gently with the swells of the water beneath it. From the topmast, fluttered a bright flag, embroidered with the form of a star, the symbol of Eärendil. This ship would be her home on the voyage. But to this ship, Andreth's feet did not carry her. Rather, she walked toward the ship docked beside it, somewhat larger than the one that would be her temporary home, though just as elegantly crafted.

Several elven men busied themselves about the deck of this ship, though none of the Edain were boarding it. Its inhabitants had already been herded on board, and made comfortable. She smiled at this thought, gathered her skirts, and mounted the gangplank to the deck which rose and fell gently beneath her feet. She touched a hand to the railing and wavered a little before regaining her balance and smiled as one of the sailors strode near, offering her a nod of his head.

He was an elf, one who, like Aelin had elected to sail to the Blessed Realm. Númenor would be but a short stopping place for him, and his fellows.

"My lady, Andreth?" he queried.

Andreth returned his polite nod. "I presume this is the ship on which the horses and-" her smile quivered, "my little goat have been housed for the journey."

The elven man grinned and nodded. "Master Sigil is seeing to their comfort, now," he said, nodding toward a wide opening in the deck that sloped downward into the shadows of the hold.

"May I?" she asked, to which the sailor nodded, and gestured his leave with his hand.

She nodded her thanks, and with her skirts still in her hands, she carefully made her way down the ramp, and into the shadows, the familiar, homey smell of sweet hay and of animals surrounding her.

At first she blinked, blinded in the darkness, though she could hear the solid stamp of horses' hooves, and the quick staccato tap of smaller cloven hooves.

As her eyes adjusted, Andreth smiled, seeing now, the two horses, Nórui and Maidh, on the other side of a low fenced enclosure, their faces bent toward the shoulders of a large, familiar figure.

Andreth could not withhold a smile at the sweet sight, especially when she noted little Lavaniel where the goat stood faithfully beside her larger, four legged friends while a short distance away a small handful of sheep nudged each other, jostling as they fed from a newly filled manger. The smell of hay was strongest behind her, and she turned, seeing on the other side of the hold, several piles of sweet hay, as well as rakes and shovels hanging neatly from the walls. Sigil had done all of this. And he had done well.

"Now you be careful of your lady, my Lord Nórui," Sigil said, his voice deep like a man's, but with the tone of a child as he stroked the necks of both the horses. She smiled at his next words. "It is no easy thing to be with foal."

The stallion nodded against Sigil's neck as if he understood, then lifted his head in a proud whinny of welcome to Andreth.

"Oh, my lady," Sigil muttered as he turned, suddenly shy as he met her gaze. He ducked his head like a shy boy. "I did not see you. Forgive-"

"Master Sigil, do not worry," Andreth assured him, stepping forward and holding out an assuring hand to the gentle, simple man. "I only just arrived in the last moments." She smiled. "You are being so gentle with the animals."

Sigil grinned, gesturing over his shoulder. "I like them. The horses, and the sheep. And your wee goat. They are good friends. I think on our new land, they will have many little ones."

Andreth grinned. "I think you're right, Sigil. And you will look out for them so well."

"Well, I-" he rubbed his hands, clearly pleased. "I should go and gather the last of my things. I will stay with the animals the entire crossing and keep them company. You won't need to worry about them at all." He drew near, and bowed his way past her, grinning as he went. "Farewell, my lady."

"And you, Master Sigil," she said as he turned, and vanished up into the light.

She turned forward, and moved across the floor toward the horses. "Well, my friends," she sighed, stopping a pace from the low wall. "Your little family will begin in our new land, just like mine."

Andreth sighed, and lowered her eyes to the leather pack she held across her shoulder, bearing the precious athelas Maglor had given her, the weight of it resting against her hip. The precious athelas.

She smiled as with her other hand, she covered her still flat stomach where grew one even more precious.

Andreth's smile only grew as from behind her, warm strong hands circled her, to cover her own where it rested on her stomach, and Elros' firm jaw pressed against her hair as he drew her securely against his chest.

"I thought I might find you here," he breathed, a teasing tone in his voice.

"Even on a wooden ship, you move lightly on your feet," she said in return, half turning her head, her body shivering warmly as Elros pressed a kiss to her brow. "I thought you were meeting with the chieftains of the Edain."

"I was, but we concluded our meeting, and I wished to come find you."

"I wanted to make sure that Lavaniel and our horses were comfortable, and these gentle sheep. Lord Círdan was most kind to gift Maidh to me."

"I'm glad he did." Elros grinned as she turned within his arms, and lifted her eyes to his face, smiling through the soft shadows of the hold. "As is Nórui." He chuckled, and reached out, ruffling his hand in the stallion's mane.

"And Maidh herself." Andreth smiled.

Elros released a low chuckled. "They do not wish to be parted." His arms tightened about her, and his smile softened as he gazed down into her eyes in the soft shadows.

"I know how they feel," she said, and he answered her with a smile. But a moment later, his smile faded.

"But we cannot stay with everyone we love," he breathed.

Andreth's face fell at this as well, and her arms went about his waist; his own arms circled about her, one hand weaving into her hair as she rested her head against his sturdy chest.

"And we must say our farewells," she murmured as she listened to the steady murmur of his heart. She felt him nod against her hair, but he did not speak.

Andreth drew in a ragged breath, and then stepped back finding the warm strength of his hand, his fingers lean and firm as they wove through her own.

"Come," she breathed. "I expect Elrond has arrived by now."

To this, Elros did not speak, but he nodded, and followed her lead as she turned, and led him up the wooden ramp, and into the light.

…oOo…

Standing beside Galadriel upon the wharf, Elrond drank in the sweet scent of the sea breeze. Above the ships, white gulls circled in the sky, swinging now and again, about the masts of the ships their haunting cries echoing across the water, and over the city. He swallowed stiffly, and glanced about him. A short distance away, Aelin stood, a pack on her shoulder. Aelin's eyes gazed westward, her countenance entranced, lifting now and again to the gulls that wheeled and dipped above her.

In her heart, Elrond knew, the longing to sail had taken hold, unlike the countenance of Ereinion, who stood beside her, his face solemn, and sad. He said something softly to her, and Aelin turned, her eyes fixing at last upon the young king who would have been her kinsman, had his beloved, her sister, not been slain at the Mouths of Sirion.

When would the sea take hold in his own heart, Elrond wondered. When would the longing to leave these shores draw him to these same docks in some distant age, bidding him to board a ship, his feet mounting a gangplank to feel a wooden deck beneath them, never to know the feel of the soil of Middle Earth beneath them, again? What kind of man would he be then? What sorrows and joys would he have seen? What dear ones would he have gained, and lost? What wounds upon his heart and soul would he have, that would bring him here, seeking for solace and healing? He did not feel such a longing, now. Nor did the lady beside him, or her lord who stood on her other side. Nor did Ereinion, though the eyes of the childless Noldorin king were sorrowful as he drew Aelin into a close embrace. "Farewell, sister," he said, his voice low.

Elrond looked away, where stone steps descended from the higher slopes of the city, Círdan came, his steps slow, almost reluctant. Behind him, followed two younger elves, a dark haired youth, and another with lighter hair, bearing a carven chest between them.

"Good morning to you, Elrond," Círdan greeted, his smile warm, though Elrond could see the sadness in the eyes of the bearded elf.

"And to you, my lord."

The two young elves set the chest against the stone wall that bordered the wharf, then stood, one on either side of it, as if guarding it.

"My lord?" Elrond asked, nodding to the chest. It was fashioned of dark, polished wood, bound with golden hinges and clasps. It looked distantly familiar.

"Gifts," Círdan said, nodding to the chest. "For Elros, and for Andreth, and for their descendants. Heirlooms, if you will."

"Heirlooms?" Elrond asked, turning now to Círdan, curious.

"Heirlooms of your houses," Círdan said with a nod. "Recovered from your mother's chambers after the attack on the Mouths of Sirion, when you were carried away as children."

Elrond's lips parted slightly. That was why the chest seemed so familiar. And if he remembered rightly from his infancy, the chest contained a number of weapons, ancient ones, finely crafted and beautiful. But- a fleeting sensation of injustice touched his heart. All of them for Elros?

A stirring upon the nearest boat turned his head, and his gaze moved to the one ship that none of the Edain were boarding. The ship that would house the animals, good Sigil who insisted on sailing with the animals to watch over them, and a few elven sailors who would leave their charges in Númenor before they sailed on to their own destination, unattainable now to Elros.

Elrond's throat suddenly grew tight as he saw his brother, and Andreth emerge from beneath the deck into the sunlight. Though their eyes were turned on one another at first, Elros, seeming to sense his brother's eyes on him, looked up and found Elrond's gaze across the distance between them. Any fleeting shreds of injustice vanished from his heart at the sight of his brother. These gifts were meant, Elrond realized, for the race of men. For Elros, and his children who would take his place after-

Elrond's throat choked, and he could not finish his thought.

Elros smiled as their eyes met, though his mouth trembled, and Elrond could see the pain in his eyes. Andreth's other hand, in a gesture of support, reach over, and gripped Elros' hand, a whispered word seeming to urge him forward. Elros released his wife's hand, and started forward alone. Elrond felt his throat stiffen and close as Elros came down the plank of the ship. The tightness in his throat left Elrond able to do little else but breath, and he feared he could not speak if he tried. This was not the last time he would see his brother, he knew, but a day would come that would be the last, until the world was remade, and a fist of grief gripped his heart.

A gentle pressure touched his arm, Galadriel's hand, and into his trembling frame, Elrond felt a faint strength infusing into him.

"Go to him," her soft voice soothed. "He needs your strength now, Elrond. Give him something that will bear him up. Both him, and Andreth."

Elrond nodded stiffly, and started forward, leaving Galadriel's comforting presence behind him as he made his way toward his brother.

Elrond drew to a stop but a few paces from his brother, his eyes fixed upon his twin, so much alike himself in appearance, but so vastly different in his own destiny. Elros had given up the life of an immortal, and while he looked no different than he had so many months ago when he had chosen a mortal life, Elrond knew that he would slowly and inevitably age and weaken, and at last embrace the gift that was bestowed to all mortals.

At this thought, Elrond's eyes moved past his brother to the fair lady who stood some distance behind her husband, loath to intrude upon the farewell between the two brothers. She was beautiful, Elrond admitted. In Elros' eyes more beautiful than all the wonders and glories of the Blessed Realm, and worth the sacrifice of his immortality.

Andreth caught a breath as their eyes met, and managed a faint, tremulous smile. His _little sister_.

What could he say to the two of them? What few words could he speak to convey his emotions, his great joy for them, and his sorrow at their parting? He would see them again, he knew. For he would come now and then, to Númenor, and they, perhaps, would come now and then to Mithlond. But it would never be the same again. And one day, inevitably, the day would come when he would not behold either of them again, until the ending of the world. His heart grew to a great weight in his chest at this.

At last, Elrond drew in a breath.

"You will be a magnificent king, little brother," he said.

Wetness gleamed in Elros' eyes at his brother's pet name. "Thank you."

Elrond took another step forward, and let his eyes drop to the wood beneath their feet.

"I will not lie to you Elros. Your choice has been hard for me," he said.

"I know. And I am sorry."

"Do not be. You chose as the Valar willed." Elrond heaved a deep breath and looked up. "I love you, little brother," he said at last.

Elros' lower lip trembled at this, and tears gleamed in his eyes. "And I love you, Elrond."

About them, the busy wharf had grown still. The Edain had all paused in their tasks, their voices fallen silent. Even the gulls seemed to sense the weight of the moment, and had stilled their cries. But Elrond hardly noticed as he and Elros stepped forward and threw their arms about each other.

Elrond buried his head against Elros' shoulder, and at last began to cry, unable to push away the understanding that his brother's years were numbered; that one day, Elros would die. Against his own shoulder, Elros was doing the same, neither brother caring that so many others looked on. For now, for these last few moments with his brother before Elros sailed, it was as it was in the beginning. In the silence, and stillness and warmth of their mother's womb. Just the two of them.

…oOo…

Andreth's throat tightened, and she dropped her eyes to her clasped hands as her husband and his brother embraced. Long they stood thusly, she could not say how long, before a faint shifting of cloth lifted her head and she met Elrond's eyes, his cheeks damp with tears.

In a moment she was in his arms, her head buried against his chest, his own face pressed against her hair.

"I am sorry I could not see the rightness of your love from the beginning, my little sister," he murmured in her ear as she trembled in his arms. "I am sorry for the pain I caused you, for the doubts I put in your heart. I know that all is now as it should be."

"All is forgiven," she murmured in return, feeling her tears wetting the front of his robe.

Andreth pushed back from Elrond, and he let her go, his cheeks wet, his eyes sorrowful as she looked up into his face. "You are my dear brother, Elrond. You always will be."

"And you will always be my cherished little sister," he murmured, bending to press a kiss against her brow.

Andreth smiled as he drew back, and lifted a hand, touching his face. He grieved, she could sense it, almost as if she, as if Elros, were already dead. She managed a smile. "You speak as if you will never see us again, Elrond. Will you not come to see us now and then?"

"Of course I will," he said, his eyes almost like a child's seeking comfort. "But the day will come, when-"

"When we will die," she said, and his face twitched with the very pain she had hit upon.

Andreth remained silent for a long moment as she watched a new tear spill over his lashes, and trail down his cheek. "But when the world is remade, and our sundered kindreds are brought together again, we will find each other."

Elrond swallowed hard and managed a faint, tremulous smile. "Nevertheless, I will- miss you, and remember you and Elros. Until that day."

Andreth swallowed, and drew in a ragged sigh at the mention of her husband's name. "There was a time when we both hoped he would see the Blessed Realm one day," she murmured.

To this, Elrond sighed, and turned toward his brother who stood a short distance away, his head turned slightly away. "As Elros himself said, _you_ are his blessed realm, Andreth. You are to him more beautiful than all the wonders of Valinor. He has chosen rightly."

To this, Elros looked up and smiled as he offered a slight nod, meeting Andreth's eyes.

With reluctance, she drew back from Elrond's arms, and stepped to Elros' side, slipping her hand into his strong, warm grip.

"Andreth, Elros."

Galadriel's voice murmured from a short distance away, reminding Andreth of the presence of others.

Life and motion stirred about her again as Elros and she turned, meeting the lady's gaze, her countenance smiling, though it was sorrowful. Beside her, stood her silver-haired lord, and Ereinion, who had joined them. Círdan stood a short distance away as well, the faces of her elven friends written with both sorrow, and hope.

"My lady," Andreth sighed, and at this, Galadriel's countenance trembled, her eyes growing vulnerable, motherly.

The elven lady stepped forward then, and encircled Andreth in her slender, though strong arms, enveloping the younger woman in a sweet scent that brought to Andreth's mind the thought of flowers and of sunlight.

"I hope my daughter is like you," Galadriel breathed. "Wise, and goodly, and fair."

"And I hope to be a mother like you," Andreth returned.

To this, Galadriel's embrace tightened briefly, before it loosened, and the elven lady stepped back, her eyes gleaming brightly and her smile trembling as she returned to Celeborn's side as her lord offered Andreth a tremulous smile of her own.

Elros had only just released Ereinion where the two elven men had embraced, and he turned to smile again upon her, moving to take her hand.

"Elros, my lady, Andreth."

Círdan stepped forward, his robe whispering as he did.

"My lord?" Elros said, turning to the silver-haired shipwright who smiled sadly behind his beard.

"This," the shipwright said, "is for you. It contains gifts for the both of  
you."

At this, two young elven men, one with dark hair, the other with light hair lifted the chest, and brought it forward, setting it beside Círdan.

The shipwright thanked them with a nod, which the young elves returned, then turned and retreated back up the stone steps.

Elros tipped his head, curious, and reached down, stroking the wood. "I remember this," he murmured, almost to himself. "It was mother's."

"It is yours, now." These words came from Elrond, and Andreth turned her eyes to his as his smile trembled.

Círdan reached down, and unfastened the clasp, lifting the lid back.

Andreth's breath caught in her throat as she studied the gleaming weapons inside. A sheathed sword, clearly of elven make, lay beside an elegantly crafted axe. Over them, lay a bow, unstrung, crafted of light, flexible wood. It seemed unremarkable beside the gleaming weapons. Indeed, if she was not mistaken, Círdan had often given it to her to use during her practices with Hathel. And- yes, there was no mistake, from that slight notch upon one side, it was the very one Hathel had pushed into her hands the day she had slain Lang to save Elros' life.

Truly, it had done a great deed that day, but what was it doing here, with these ancient, and honor weapons? Beside the bow, in one corner, a small leather bag lay. Clearly, Andreth mused, it sheltered something smaller, yet perhaps just as valued as the larger weapons.

"Aranrúth," Círdan explained reverently as he picked up the sheathed sword, and handed it to Elros.

Andreth drew in a breath as she watched her husband's eyes brighten with wonder. A soft metallic whisper met her ears as he drew the blade partway from the sheath, and studied the exposed blade with admiration.

"Aranrúth," he echoed. "The sword of Thingol, our great, great grandfather."

"And Dramborleg," Círdan added, now lifting the mighty axe.

Elros sheathed the sword with a soft clap, and returned it to Círdan as he took the axe. Andreth's heart quickened a little at the ease with which he hefted it, despite its obvious weight. "The axe of Tuor, our grandfather," he said softly.

"And this, my lady," Círdan said, directing his smile now toward Andreth as he lifted out the unstrung bow, and offered her to her. "Is the Bow of Bregor."

"The Bow of Bregor? But you gave it to me, to use in my practices with Master Hathel," she murmured, feeling her heart come to a standstill. "I did not know its greatness. This is truly the bow of my ancestory Bregor, son of Boromir of Bëor's house? Bregor, the brother of the Andreth for whom I am named?"

Círdan grinned and nodded as she took the weapon into her hands, her fingers caressing the smooth surface of the wood. "I could not think of a better use for it, than to let his fair descendant learn with his ancient bow," Círdan said.

"And this, though smaller than the others," the shipwright continued, and lifted up the small leather bag as Andreth continued to caress the bow reverently, "is perhaps the most precious of them all."

He nodded now to Elros. "You hand, my young friend," he said, before tipping into Elros' extended palm, a gleaming silver ring.

Andreth's eyes trailed to the ring, silver it seemed, or mithril, the image of two serpents twined one about the other, their heads crowned with golden flowers, framing a glimmering green jewel. At the sight of the ring, her heart nearly stopped.

Ai, she had heard of this before.

"The ring of Barahir," she breathed, returning the bow of Bregor to Círdan's hands as she cupped one hand beneath her husband's to touch the ring in his palm with a reverent finger. "The ring gifted to Barahir, by Lord Finrod Felagund, himself, meant to be an heirloom of Barahir's house for all time."

"Indeed," Círdan returned, his voice clearly pleased. "You know the history of your own house very well, Andreth."

"_All_ of these for us?" There was reluctance in Elros' tone as he looked toward his elder brother. "What of Elrond? He is as entitled-"

"They are meant to pass to the race of Men, little brother," Elrond assured him gently. "They are for you, and Andreth, and for your descendants."

"Then here," Elros murmured gently, and lifted the ring from his palm. Gently, Elros took her hand in his own, and before she realized what he was doing, had slipped it gently onto Andreth's thumb. The ring slid to the knuckle, a fair fit despite its having been fashioned, she could tell, for a man's finger.

"But you should wear it," she protested softly. "You are to be king, and-"

"And you are my queen, and of the Noble House of Bëor as well," he returned, smiling as she lifted her eyes to his. "You have as much right to wear it, as I."

His hands gently squeezed, to which Andreth found herself returning his smile, and gripping his hands more tightly in return.

"My lord, Círdan."

All heads turned at the sound of an elven man's voice.

The elven sailor who had spoken to Andreth, and one other, both fair-haired, strode near.

"Yes, Master Nithron?" Círdan returned.

"The ships must needs sail soon, my lord," said the fair-haired elf, Nithron. "For the tide is ready."

"Very well," Círdan said, his voice solemn as he closed the lid of the chest, and latched it with a soft click.

Andreth shivered a little at the sound and looked up as Elros met her eyes in silence.

Nithron and the other elf picked up the chest between them, and carried it, seemingly with little effort, toward the nearest ship, and up the gangplank, disappearing with it down steps into the hold.

"Come," Elros murmured to her, and Andreth followed his lead, though her steps were heavy, as he guided her to the wooden gangplank that the sailors had just ascended. A bright flag fluttered from the top mast, where the large canvas sail remained bound to the gaff. An elven sailor had climbed the mainmast with the light footed grace of his people, and perched at the juncture of the mast and gaff, ready to loose the sail. Aelin already stood at the railing, her hands clenching the wood with tight knuckles, and a single tear trailing down one cheek.

Andreth paused at the lip of the plank, and turned back, her eyes lifting to the rising walls and hills of Mithlond, her thoughts flying beyond what she could see to the forests and meadows where she had lived and grown. To Firiel's grave. She thought of her father who had died fighting the evil of Melkor. She thought of her mother who had given her life, but whose face she could not remember.

At her side, Elros seemed to sense her feelings, and his hand gently squeezed her own. She turned and met his eyes. Long she held his gaze, before she sighed, and nodded.

Elros turned then, his chest heaved a breath, and started up the wooden plank. She followed behind, her fingers woven through his. Her feet left the stable wharf, the plank bobbing and rising softly beneath her.

At last they reached the deck, and hand in hand, they turned, and gazed back down.

Elrond stood at the side of Gil Galad, whose hand clasped his shoulder. Andreth's heart eased a little, knowing the Noldorin king would watch over her brother-in-law. Beside them, Galadriel, Celeborn, and Círdan looked up with somber faces. All along the quay, the last of the Edain were boarding their ships.

She felt a movement at her side. Aelin had joined her. The elven woman touched her arm, and they exchanged a trembling smile as Aelin slipped her arm through Andreth's. Joy and sorrow gleamed in Aelin's eyes.

Behind her the flutter of loosened canvas was followed by the broad shadow of the sail falling over her and her companions.

The ship began to move, a soft whisper of water as the prow split the waves, pointed toward the entrance to the harbor.

Andreth did not look forward though, past the sail toward the opening of the harbor where the prow of the ship pointed as the waters of the Lhûn, lapped at the sides of the boat beneath her. Rather she moved as the ship did, gliding to the aft of the ship, stopping only when she reached the railing of the stern, and gripped it tightly, her eyes fixed upon Elrond, and her other elven friends who stood upon the wharf, their eyes fixed upon her, and her companions.

A hand touched the small of her back. Elros stood at her side, shuddering slightly. She turned to look at him, finding herself not surprised to see tears streaming down his cheeks.

Upon the wharf, Elrond raised a hand, and at this gesture, Elros clasped her own hand, and lifted their joined hands together in farewell.

…oOo…

Without Gil Galad's hand upon his shoulder, Elrond was certain he would have fallen to his knees as Elros' ship, trailed one after the other by the ships in his armada, made for the harbor opening overlooked by the very lighthouse they had help build together.

He swallowed hard and lifted a hand as they drew further away, his heart clenching in his chest as Elros and Andreth together raised their joined hands in farewell. Beyond them, the harbor mouth loomed.

Evening had not yet fallen, but-

Elrond's lips parted in wonder. For there, in the sky as it was suspended in the evening, hung Eärendil. His father's distant ship, gleaming with the light of the silmaril. From where he stood, the star gleamed just above the heads of his brother and sister in law.

Upon his shoulder, Ereinion's fist tightened. He too, had seen the star.

The star that would hang ever in the western sky, guiding his brother and his people across the water to their new home. Out through the mouth of the bay Elros' ship passed, followed by the others, one after another.

The quay began to empty of elves, filtering away as mortal friends vanished from sight. But Elrond remained.

Even after the last ship had left the harbor, and the boats were naught but distant specks vanishing into the distance, Elrond remained, and to his gratitude, Gil Galad remained at his side, as did the other three elves. Long after the wharf was entirely empty of all others, long after the sun had sunk to the horizon, filling his vision with her splendour, long after a bright lamp alighted in the tall lighthouse, and night deepened, still with Eärendil hanging over the distant ships, Elrond remained.

Elrond and his companions did not turn away until the darkness and the distance had swallowed the fading ships to their elven sight. And even as he turned away, Gil Galad's hand upon his shoulder to trudge with heavy feet up the stone steps, Eärendil remained, gleaming motionless in the western sky.


	59. Chapter 59

Dear Readers: Sorry! (Sort of.) It's still not done yet. Not quite. Next chapter should be the last. I think.

Chapter 59

The sun at her back brought the retreating shoreline into beautiful relief where Andreth stood at the stern of the ship, her eyes upon the haven of Mithlond within the arms of land that encircled the bay. She could see the rising buildings and towers that climbed the slopes on either side of the bay, and Cirdan's house atop the knoll.

Leagues of shoreline opened to her view as the land drew further away; the naith of land around which the forest came down toward the water, where Elros' cave was to be found. And further north and west, the distant shoreline fading as the ship, her sails full, plowed westward through the waves. There, in the faint distance, lay the land that had once been Firiel's, where she lay beside her husband Haran, until the world would be remade.

Her hand, within Elros' had lowered when they had passed out of the bay, but still, he stood by her side, his hands gripping the railing, his eyes fixed upon the mouth of the bay through which she could see a fraction of the shoreline. Aelin had left their company, and had gone below some time past, leaving the married pair alone at the stern.

"He is still there?" she asked softly. With his elven sight, Elros could see more than she. And he nodded.

"Elrond is still watching us, and Ereinion. Lord Cirdan also, with the lady and her lord."

Andreth nodded, and moved against him, sliding her arm about his waist. Elros responded with a sigh, and slipped his arm about her shoulders.

"I have never been this far from him," he murmured, and she could hear the tremor in his otherwise strong voice.

"Sire."

The voice of one of the elven sailors broke through the silence of their thoughts, and both Andreth and Elros turned to see a fair haired elf approach. It was a strange thing, Andreth noted, to hear her husband addressed thusly.

"Forgive my intrusion, but look."

The elven man pointed westward and up, past the upper corner of the ship's full sail, and into the sky.

Though the sun was only just westering, a bright star hung in the sky, gleaming as if twilight had already descended. Eärendil, she knew immediately.

"_Adar,_" Elros murmured, confirming her thoughts.

Andreth turned her gaze to take in her husband's face.

Elros' hand rested upon the small of her back, but his eyes were uplifted to the star, the strong, chiseled lines of his face written with wonder, with pain, and joy mingled.

"He is guiding us," she murmured.

He nodded, his hand gently brushing up and down her spine as he did, then turned to her, his gaze growing soft.

"This reminds me of our wedding day," he said softly. "Never before that evening, when I saw you coming toward me, had my father's silmaril shone more brightly in the sky."

His gaze softened as he studied her now. A hand lifted, touching lightly against her hair, his fingers brushing against the smooth tresses.

The elven sailor who had approached them, smiled and ducked his head, turning away as Elros cradled her face in his hands, and bent his head. Andreth let her eyes fall closed before she felt the soft brush of Elros' lips upon her own before he drew back, and smiled.

Together, they turned their eyes eastward again, toward the shore that shrank even as they watched.

Long they stood, side by side, watching the shore draw away. The sun sank into the sea behind them, and night gradually claimed the sky. But Eärendil did not move. He hung in the westward sky, steadfastly in his spot as the other stars flickered one by one in the darkness.

A bright light, as of Eärendil himself, gleamed from the now distant shore that was now nothing more to her eyes, than a dark line against an indigo sky.

"The lighthouse," she realized aloud. "The one you helped build." Elros nodded, wordless.

Here and there, about the ship, the elven sailors were bringing silver lanterns to life, their light flickering across the deck, and even one high on the main mast, like so many fireflies. Upon the other ships as well, across the water, lamps were coming on, one by one. Brightness against the darkening water beneath them, flickering against the oceans swells upon which they rode. A wind brushed over the stern of the ship where she stood with her husband, and Andreth shivered a little. His arm tightened about her, drawing her closer.

From behind her, a lamp approached, and a voice.

"Lady Andreth, my young lord, Elros, your cabin is ready, and supper is waiting."

The pair turned to meet Aelin's eyes, gleaming in the light of the lamp she held.

"Aelin, you've been below, preparing our cabin?" Andreth asked. "Oh, I should have helped-"

"Indeed not," Aelin teased. "You have done just as you should." Her brows raised as she smiled. "But will you come, now? No doubt you are weary."

Andreth was indeed ready for rest, and she nodded, looking up into Elros' eyes before she started after Aelin.

"I will stay here a moment longer," he said. "Elrond has not returned to Círdan's house yet."

Andreth turned her eyes eastward. She could see nothing more than a dark outline beneath the brightness of the lighthouse.

With a quivering smile, she squeezed her husband's hand, then turned away and followed Aelin beneath the sail, and down a sloping stair into the hollow beneath the deck.

The belly of the ship was faintly warmer than the outer air. At the bottom of the wooden steps, a corridor led down the length of the ship, from the bow to the stern. Its walls were of paneled wood, interspersed with a few narrow doors. Three small silver lamps in sconces lit the length of the hallway. She followed Aelin toward the bow of the ship where the corridor ended in a door.

"Your chambers," Aelin said, pushing the door open, and gesturing Andreth into a chamber with a few small candles. This was the prow of the ship, the far end of the room ending in a point. A window of glass was set in a frame to fit within the narrowing brow, a splash of water now and then striking at the thick glass, reminding her of the ever forward motion of the ship. Rich red velvet curtains had been drawn aside, giving her a clear view of the dark ocean ahead and of Eärendil, who still hung in the sky, though by now, full dark had fallen. Within the narrowing hollow where the glass ended in a point, a table, with two waiting chairs, sat, spread with covered platters, empty cups, and a decanter of wine.

A large bed stood the left wall took up much of the spacious cabin, a wardrobe opposite that. Beside the wardrobe, sat a small, though gracefully carved dressing table with a small mirror and chair before it.

Andreth turned and looked into Aelin's eyes. The elven woman smiled, her eyes filled with more delight than Andreth remembered seeing in her face before.

"You needn't have done all this, Aelin," she chided gently.

Aelin grinned, and shook her head. "I was glad to," she returned. "I knew you wished to stay on deck, and so I came down here, and prepared your cabin, and my own," she gestured over her shoulder. "And I found the galley. Gilion, one of the sailors aided me, and I prepared you a small meal."

To this, Andreth could only sigh, and smile gratefully at her friend who would be sailing on, once she and Elros and their people had disembarked in Númenor. Aelin would join her husband, Thallon, she had said, who, she was certain, had been reembodied, and awaited her in the Blessed Realm. And while Andreth was happy for her gentle friend, she was sad as well, for she may not see her again.

"Thank you, Aelin." Impulsively, Andreth leaned forward at this thought, and embraced her elven friend.

"You have been a good friend," Andreth murmured.

Aelin returned the embrace for a long moment, before she took hold of Andreth's shoulders and pushed her back.

Aelin smiled at this, and blinking gleaming eyes. "As have _you_," she returned. "Good night, Lady Andreth." she said, and as Aelin turned down the corridor to her own cabin, Andreth shut the door.

The light from Eärendil, combined with the faint light of the candles, lit the room in a muted glow.

Andreth sighed as she moved to a small wardrobe opposite the large bed, and opened it. A few items of clothing, for herself, and Elros, hung in the closet, enough for a few days.

With a sigh, she pushed her slippers off, and set them on the floor of the wardrobe. She lifted the pouch of precious athelas from over her shoulder, and set it upon the dressing table. She turned and glided to the wide window, gazing to the port, then to the starboard side through the glass panes at the lamp bedecked ships that sailed silently beside her own through the dark night, like stars moving over the surface of the sea, gliding toward the beacon in the sky that was Eärendil. The father of her beloved. With a sigh, she drew the knot of the curtain loose, and with a whisper of fabric, the curtains tumbled over the glass, blocking the ocean from her sight before shrugging out of her gown. She sighed, glad to be free of its weight as it crumpled to the floor, leaving her in her thin, cool shift that whispered about her ankles, and left her arms bare.

She shivered a little as she gathered up the weight of her gown, and hung it upon a hook in the wardrobe before she dropped into the seat before the dressing table. Beside the mirror, lay a hair brush. She picked it up as she removed the combs that had gathered her hair, and began to draw it through her loosened tresses.

She had drawn it only a few strokes, when the door behind her opened. She turned as Elros entered with a sigh, and shut it, his back pressed against the door as he gazed ahead, his eyes fixed on the curtains that hung before the wide window as if he could see through them into the west, and toward Eärendil in the sky.

Andreth set the brush down and rose. "Elros?" she murmured as she glided to him, warmed by his nearness.

At her voice, Elros' eyes found her, and his mouth drew up in a weary smile. "Andreth," he murmured, shifting and drawing his arms loose as she slipped the heavy robe from his shoulders, freeing him of its weight. She turned, folding it, and laying the thick garment upon an empty shelf within the wardrobe. "I watched until I knew he had turned away. I am sorry I kept you waiting."

She turned back with a smile, and returned to him.

"Do not be," she murmured. 'Your feelings are still raw. And doubtless will be, for some time."

Andreth lifted a hand to his jaw, and moved to him tilting her face up, seeking for a kiss, and the feel of his arms circling her.

But Elros did not immediately embrace her, nor, for a long moment, did he look at her, his eyes instead, turning to gaze again toward the curtains as if he could see Eärendil beyond, his countenance sad, and distracted. His hand did touch her waist, but nothing more.

"Elrond and I have been parted before, a few days here or there, but not like _this_," he murmured to himself. "_Nothing_ like this." His voice was soft, but within it, she could hear the faint tremor, and the quiet pain. "Every moment increases the distance between Elrond and me."

"Oh, Elros," she murmured, her hand trailing from his jaw to his arm, rubbing her fingers over the cloth, caressing the ridges of his muscles beneath. Her heart ached at the pain on his face.

His eyes found her own then, and he smiled, though sadly, his other hand finding her bare shoulder.

Gently, he learned near, and pressed a kiss to her hair. "I will never regret this choice he murmured, his voice a soft rumble from deep in his chest. "One lifetime with you is worth more to me than all the glories of Valinor." He smiled sadly. "But even so, it is not without pain. I know what I have done to Elrond."

Of a sudden, Elros turned to her fully, and gathered her against himself. The gesture was unexpected, his strength robbing her momentarily of breath, but even so, Andreth responded, by slipping her arms about him, and holding him as he pressed his face against her hair. A shiver ran through his body.

"This _hurts_, Andreth!" he moaned. "As if my heart has been wrenched in two! I have never been _without_ Elrond! Nor he without me! What am I to do? What will he do?"

Andreth held him as Elros shuddered, his arms holding her to him with vice-like strength. After a long moment, his strength eased and he pulled back. Andreth lifted her eyes to her husband's, seeing the pleading there, the hope that she would say something wise; something comforting.

"I know it is difficult," she murmured. "I cannot fully understand what you feel, I admit, for though I love him, he is not my twin. But I beg you, my husband, to remember what you have before asked me to do."

Elros' eyes studied her own as he awaited her next words.

"Trust the Valar," she murmured. "They will give you strength. And Elrond will have strength as well. You have both chosen as you should, and you will both be blessed for it. And your children. And their children. Ages from now, all of Arda will be blessed because of the choices you have both made."

Elros' lower lip trembled a little and he looked away once more.

The innocence of a child, and the wisdom of a man seemed to coalesce in his eyes as he studied the curtains that veiled the distant gleam that marked his father's place in the sky. His dark hair hung smoothly about his shoulders, down his back and over his chest, parting before and behind the tipped peak of his ear. To look upon him, he still looked as he had the first day she had met him, before he had elected the life of a mortal. Before he had given up the chance to live for all the ages of the world as one of the immortal Firstborn. Before he had declared her love of more worth to him than all the jewels of Tirion. Love swelled in her heart, and gratitude. He was beautiful. In so many ways. How had she won such a husband, such a lover, such a friend? What noble deed had she done to earn his devotion? Was she truly worth more to him than all the beauties of the Blessed Realm?

As if sensing her thoughts, Elros' gaze fell again to hers, and his eyes softened as he smiled.

Elros drew in a sigh, his hands finding her shoulders once more, and running gently along her arms. "Of all the daughters of elves or of men, you are the most beautiful," he continued softly. "Your beauty outmatched only by the goodness of your heart. How was it that I, of all the sons of Ilúvatar, was the one blessed to win your love?"

Andreth blinked, swallowing hard at her husband's fair words.

"Your words are wondrously lovely, Elros," she sighed.

"Only because you are," he returned.

She smiled, and rose on her toes to press a gentle kiss to his jaw. "I love you," she murmured, lifting her hand again to his jaw, hoping to draw his face down to her own for a kiss, but Elros only sighed, and clasped her hands, stepping back as he gazed down into her face, pleading filling his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Andreth, I-" he glanced away, as if he were ashamed. "I should not let my sorrow hinder us from-"

He broke off with a sigh, and then Andreth smiled and understood, her thoughts casting back to their wedding night, and how gentle and patient he was with her, when she had been fearful and hesitant.

"Do not be sorry," she soothed, stepping back from him, and gathering both his hands in her own. "Your heart is heavy. Do not apologize for that. But come. Let us simply lie together, for now. Lie with me, Elros and rest."

She turned and stepped toward the bed, her hand still within his. Elros followed her, unprotesting, as she drew the warm coverlet back with a whisper of sheets, and sat upon the soft mattress, easing to the middle to make room for him.

Heaving a breath, Elros sat beside her, pushed his boots off, then turned, and moved to her where Andreth sat in the center of the bed, her back resting against the plump pillows.

"Andreth, I'm sorry," he began in a whisper as his arm moved across her stomach, still flat, as his warm body drew up beside her own, and his head rested, like a child's against her shoulder. "I shouldn't-"

"Do not be sorry," she murmured, as she circled her arms about him, and drew him ever closer.

His hand grasped the coverlet, and drew it up, warm, to her shoulder.

"Simply being with you, sleeping in your arms is enough, tonight," she assured him, and to this Elros smiled.

"I love you, Andreth," he murmured.

His eyes remained open, his face still turned toward the curtain that veiled his father's star. But his breath gradually deepened, and his focus dulled, letting her know he had found the path of his dreams.

"I love you too, my dearest," she breathed.

…oOo…

About Talia on the ship, the silver elven lamps gleamed, bright and unflickering, not unlike so many lovely fireflies.

Just beyond the point of the railing where she stood, her hands resting upon the polished wood as she gazed forward into the darkness, one lamp hung on a jutting point, casting its silver light off the dark water below, its reflection casting and dancing back into her face in lovely splashes of light. Ahead of her, she could see nothing in the darkness, save the light of the stars, including the bright star which hung unmoving in the western sky, the bright star which Hathel had told her, was indeed no star, but the Lord Eärendil upon his ship, Vingilot with a silmaril upon his brow.

How many days would it be, before the land where they would dwell, would appear upon the horizon? She looked forward to that day, but at the same time, she almost wished it not to come too quickly. For the ocean was beautiful, the rise and dip of the boat beneath her feet, and the gentle wind in her hair-

A foot upon the deck behind Talia turned her quickly, an apology upon her lips for the elven sailor she was certain was drawing near behind her, wondering why she had not retired for the night.

But the words died before she spoke them, seeing in the light of the silver lamps, Hathel's eyes delving gently into her own as he approached her.

"You were not with the other maidens when I knocked on your door, seeking to bid you goodnight," he said, drawing near to join her at the railing. "The others said I would find you here."

"I do not feel sleep coming yet," Talia confessed. "It is so lovely here, the darkness, and the stars- and- and you, now. In truth, I could stay here, contented, all night. If only you-"

Talia stopped and ducked her eyes, flushing at the boldness of her words. Beside her, Hathel did not speak at first, but shifted nearer, letting his arm brush against hers. A thrill of heat trembled through her body from the point where his arm touched her own.

"So could I," he confessed, his breath washing her cheek as his hand shyly moved to cover hers where it rested upon the rail. "But in truth, I would not be watching the stars. Rather, my gaze would be fixed upon your eyes, which are more fair than any star I can see in the sky."

Talia turned to look up at him now, conscious of the way his hand trembled as it held her own. Softly, she began. "Hathel-"

"I love you, Talia," he blurted, his eyes growing suddenly uncertain at the boldness of his own words.

She fell silent, her heart bursting in a sudden thrill of ecstasy. She wanted to sing, and weep at once. But she could only hold his hand in silence and study his eyes. "You do?" she asked softly.

"I do," he returned, drawing her back a little from the railing so that he could turn fully to her. "I love you with all of my heart. And I can only hope that you love me as-"

"Hathel, hush," Talia breathed; she stepped near, her arms circling about his neck. "You need say no more."

Talia smiled as his eyes sparked with sudden hope. "Just kiss me," she urged.

Hathel smiled. His hands, strong, firm, and wondrously gentle, found her waist, and he did as she bid him.

Talia closed her eyes as his lips found her own, sending pulses of heat racing through her. His mouth tasted her own shyly, but eagerly, exploring her own mouth with trembling timidity.

She had never been kissed like this before, with such gentleness, such tenderness and such pure, sweet longing. If his words had not convinced her of his regard, these soft, gentle caresses of his lips upon her own, left no room for her to doubt his love and his absolute adoration.

Talia sighed into the kiss, and found herself matching his passions with a warmth all her own as she pressed closer to him, eager to assure him of her own ardor.

To this, his arms strengthened by years of loyal work cutting and shaping stones, only tightened about her further, and Hathel deepened the kiss, fairly lifting her off her feet before he suddenly drew back with a gasp, and set her again upon her feet, studying her eyes with an expression of wondrous disbelief.

"Talia," he gasped, his trembling hands finding her own. "I- you- that was wonderful."

Talia ducked her eyes at this. "It was," she agreed shyly.

"Do you love me?"

Her eyes shot up again. The soft eyes of this wonderful, honest stonemason studied her own, pleading. Almost uncertain. As if she could ever give him any other answer!

"Oh, Hathel, yes," she returned, her voice breaking as she spoke. "I do. I love you. With all my heart, I-"

"Then will you marry me?"

Talia froze. Hathel's strong arms squeezed about her. He was in earnest. She hesitated only a moment longer.

"Yes," she said. She did not wish to speak any more, for now. And she did not need to as Hathel dipped his head, and once again his warm, pliant mouth found her own.


	60. Chapter 60

Dear Readers, here you go! But I think I will add a short epilogue.

Chapter 60

Elros stirred in his sleep as the sweet refrain of a harp filled his ears, the wooden ceiling above him coming into focus, and drawing him from his dreams. He blinked in the early morning light that filtered through the curtains, and rolled to one side, the bedclothes whispering as he did. He lifted up a little, propping his head in one hand, the more easily to observe his wife who sat a short distance away from him, her body turned partway toward him so that her soft profile was visible, as she gently plucked at the strings of her harp.

Andreth must have only just risen a few minutes before; her hair had been loosely twisted onto her head, held with a single pin, a few adorably tousled locks trailing down her shapely neck, and she still wore her nightgown, the gossamer thin cloth doing little to conceal her womanly virtues. He felt his blood stir as the thought touched him that perhaps this was what she intended.

Elros smiled and sighed, his heart giving a guilty throb. Since they embarked on their voyage, he had allowed his separation from Elrond to nigh consume him. To the sailors, to Aelin and to his people on the other ships whom he could hail when the light was good, he hid his lingering sense of loss. Andreth alone, saw the true pain in his heart when they were alone in their cabin, and she bore the weight of being his sole comforter. Little had he done, to thank her, though.

He heaved a soft breath where he lay, studying the graceful movement of her bare arms as her fingers gently caressed the strings, recalling how he had awoken when the morning dawned after their first night at sea, still cradled in her arms, Andreth beautiful in her sleep where she lay half reclined against the pillows above his head, with her arms about his head and shoulders. It had been the first night they had shared as a wedded pair without making love even once. And every night since had been much the same, except that he would not again let his expectant wife sleep sitting up for his sole comfort.

He had held her in his arms when they went to bed, her head in its customary place, resting in the crook of his shoulder, her slender arm draped over his bare chest. But aside from enjoying the feel of her in his arms, her soft, warm body against his own, their legs deliciously entangled, he had not bonded with her, nor even lain with her unclothed, since their departure. He had been too preoccupied with his own sorrow, he recalled with regret. Yet not once had she complained these last days, neither in word nor in gesture, showing nothing to him but patience and understanding.

Elros' heart swelled with gratitude at this thought as her fair, shapely fingers moved delicately over the strings, her music washing through him in comforting waves. Their new home, her music seemed to say, would be fair and lovely, and they would find joy there.

He listened and watched in silence, musing as he did. Doubtless she had missed him, missed the intimacy, the sweetness and pleasure of their love making, the warmth and the satisfying contact between their unfettered bodies as he realized now, he did. Especially now as he watched his wife play, watching the grace of her movements, the slender beauty of her bare arms, and the soft, supple curves of her body visible beneath the thin blue-green cloth of her sleeping gown. The same gloriously thin garment she had worn on their wedding night.

All that was in him that made him a man, stirred with ever increasing hunger as he watched her. If she wished to seduce him, she was succeeding marvelously.

A deep sigh escaped him. He _had_ been a neglectful husband. But if she would permit him, he would remedy that. He smiled lightly.

"Andreth," he called at last.

…oOo…

Andreth's eyes were closed as her fingers moved over the strings of her harp, the music bringing to life images in her head of the tall mountain she had seen in her dreams, garbed in snow, and wreathed by clouds, of low valleys, bathed in mist. Of wide, fair plains lush with grass, and deep, green forests populated by tall, noble trees reaching toward the heavens. Númenor would be beautiful.

"Andreth," Elros voice murmured from behind her. She smiled. She had been hoping-

Her music fell silent as her hands dropped to her lap.

She turned a little, and looked at him over her shoulder, studying him a long moment, pleased at the way his eyes moved over her, warm with adoration, and also with longing; something she had not seen in some days. Her heart quickened.

"You are awake, _Rau Amin_," she breathed as at last, she turned, and rose to her feet.

"Your music roused me from my dreams _my Tindómiel_," he murmured as she drew to his side, and sat beside him. One warm hand found her own, and lifted it to his lips, kissing the knuckle of her thumb where the Ring of Barahir rested.

"And I am glad," he finished, settling back against the pillows, and drawing her with him, so that her hands pressed into the bed on either side of him as she leaned over him. "You are a wondrously lovely vision to see upon my waking. And your music was very comforting."

Andreth smiled down upon him, a few strands of loose hair trailing down to brush against his throat.

"I am happy that I pleased you with my music, my lord," she murmured where she hovered above him. She parted her lips slightly as she studied his sea grey eyes. Her heart began to quicken. Softly, she breathed, "Is there aught I can do, to please you more?"

"Oh, my lady," Elros sighed and lifted a hand, letting his fingers caress her bare throat before sliding to her hair, and drawing the single pin free. Her hair tumbled now about her shoulders in loose whorls as Elros tossed the pin away. It clattered to the floor a moment later, though neither she nor Elros watched it go. His fingers trailed down her throat to her shoulder, and rested there for a moment, warm and strong, the weight of it solid and welcoming. His other hand found her hip, warm through the thin cloth. Elros shifted his position, and with tender, controlled power, drew her down beside him onto the bed, the sinews of his strong arms and shoulders shifting gracefully beneath his warm skin. The softness of the bedclothes against her back still lingered with his warmth as her hair spread out about her.

"It is I who should ask _you_ that question," he murmured.

Cradled now in his arms, she looked up at him as he rose up on one elbow, his dark hair trailing down over one sinuous shoulder. She smiled for a moment into his eyes, but did not confine her gaze to his face for long, letting her eyes trail over her husband's sculpted torso, admiring his fierce beauty. He always slept without a shirt, and this pleased her, even when their passions were cool and they merely lay in each other's arms. He was truly magnificent simply to look upon, his warm, muscular flesh wonderful to touch. But now- Now-

Elros bent his head, pressing his lips to her jaw, and she sighed at this.

Andreth closed her eyes, shifted upon the bed, and tipped her head back. At the silent invitation, a soft, feral growl escaped Elros, and his lips trailed warmly down to the sensitive skin of her throat. _"Andreth," _her name a husky breath on lips that kissed her tender flesh, tasting her sweetness as his free arm moved, sliding over her, his warm hand gently gripping the thin cloth that shielded the soft contours of her body, his strong fingers gentle, yet generous in his caresses.

An involuntary moan of pleasure escaped her. _Ai_, she'd missed this!

_"My __Tindómiel-" _His voice was a rough plea.

Andreth lifted a hand, brushing her fingers over the warm skin of his neck. "_Rau amin_," she murmured.

Elros sighed, and drew back. Andreth opened her eyes to gaze up into his own. Long his sea grey eyes studied her, roiling now with deepening longing. "I have been selfish," he murmured at last.

"Elros-" she began tenderly before he bent his head, and captured her open, eager mouth. His mouth was warm and moist, tenderly insistent. Andreth draped her arms over his shoulders, weaving her fingers in his hair as she lost herself in his caresses, tasting him, devouring him, matching his ardor with her own rising passions, his kisses steadily increasing in fervor. She felt his arms tighten and the bed shift as his own solid weight, warm and welcome, settled upon her, their bodies twining together, though the cloth of their thin garments still hindered them.

"Forgive me," he pleaded breathlessly against her mouth as he drew back a little. She looked up at him, seeing the apology in his eyes. "I have neglected you these past days." His voice was a thick, husky growl, alluring in its penitence.

"All is forgiven," she assured him with a soft, eager gasp, and she gently drew him back down to her, to show him how truly she meant her words.

…oOo…

Aelin stood at the point of the bow, her hands upon the railing, leaning as far forward as she dared over the water that foamed and hissed in protest as the bow cut through. She drew in a deep breath, thirstily drinking in the sweet scent of the ocean air, and smiling into the west where lay a small patch of cloud on the far purple horizon. The sky there gradually faded to a softer blue as it climbed higher, the distant patch of cloud washed in pink with the dawn nearly ready to rise behind Aelin. Eärendil still remained in the western sky as he had for the past several days hovering ever in the spot where he usually appeared only at twilight.

Aelin drew in another breath, and held it in her lungs. There was a new tang in the air, today. A new deliciousness that filled her with a brightness and sense of anticipation she had not felt since her youth.

"Mistress Aelin," a voice spoke behind her, and she turned to see the captain, Nithron, drawing near. He nodded in deference to her, and she bobbed her head in return.

"Can you sense the change in the air?" he asked as he paused a short distance away.

"I can," she returned. "I was just wondering why. I suppose it portends-"

A high avian cry sounded through the air then, cutting off Aelin's words, and her eyes flew westward again.

Something was coming toward them through the air, white, and slender in the brightening light.

"A seabird," she breathed, watching it near.

Nithron said nothing at all as the gull neared, then flew over their boat, its grey tipped wings outspread, to circle about their mast, then alight upon the yard beside the elf perched there on lookout. The gull stood there a moment before it sidled along the narrow wooden yard nearer to his new elven companion in a way that brought a smile to Aelin's face, the gull reminding her of a shy newcomer eager to make a friend.

The bird tipped its head, solemnly observing the elven man who in return studied the bird with a humored expression that mirrored Aelin's thoughts before the gull spread its wings and lifted from the yard to wing rapidly back over the ship and in the direction from which it had come, purpose and speed in its flight, as if it were a messenger hurrying away with glad tidings.

All eyes followed it, and as it went-

"_Land, Master Nithron_!" the voice of the young elf perched upon the yard, frantic with joy shouted from above, and her eyes jerked up. The elf waved a frantic hand down to them, before he directed his shouts to the neighboring boats, his arm waving joyfully, frantically as he shouted the word again. "_Land_!"

The cry came back like an echo, from other elves perched on the yards of their own ships, mingling with other excited cries as, at the shouted word, their Edain passengers began clambering out from below deck, men and women, children as well, babies in the arms of their mothers or fathers. They crowded to the railing, many of them pointing westward, their faces alight with wonder and joy.

Aelin's eyes swiveled forward, and she saw it now as well. In the distance, rising out of the water, a distant peak rose through the swath of cloud, a gleaming pinnacle not visible before now. Eärendil's gleaming light hovered directly above the peak of this great mountain, a beam of light seeming to descend until it alighted upon the very pinnacle.

"We must let the young king know, and his queen," Nithron said.

The elven sailor turned away quickly. "I'll go fetch them. They'll want to see this."

"No," Aelin spouted hastily turning after him, and touching a hand to his arm. "No, Master Nithron, don't. Let them- give them time. They'll- they will come when they will."

The sailor paused. He seemed to have as many centuries on him as Aelin, but she could see in his countenance that he had not yet found a wife. Perhaps he didn't understand her unspoken hint.

Nithron hesitated, but then he nodded at last. "Very well," he said, and turned away, shouting orders to his crew. The elves scrambled to obey him as Aelin turned again to look westward, her heart thumping with a sense of renewal and purpose.

Her hands clasped together over her heart as the morning sun rose fully behind her, bathing the growing mountaintop in golden splendor.

Her lips moved, and the name escaped her lips before she was aware she spoke it. "_Thallon_."

…oOo…

Andreth could do little more than stand at the bow in wonder as the towers and docks of the port city to which they were nearing, grew ever larger. To the north and south of their ships she could see arms of land against the horizon. They must be two of the five arms she remembered from the vision Lady Este had shown her, drawing together in a point where the city stood, waiting beneath the sun high, and bright above their heads. Far beyond the city, she saw the mountain, like a pillar supporting the heavens, rising into the sky, wisps of cloud still clinging about its sides. How well she remembered it from her shared dreams with Elros.

Along the shore, crowds of men and women, elves she was certain, though with her mortal vision she could not see them as clearly as Elros surely could, were gathered, alerted of the arrival of the ships, and clearly pleased at their coming.

Oh, if only Aelin was here to see all this as well! But her faithful friend had insisted she go below and prepare Andreth's things to disembark.

"_No_," Aelin had said with a smile when Andreth had tried to go below to help her. "_You must stay on deck to greet the elves, and to be visible to your people. Do not worry about me. I will come up, soon enough_."

Perhaps, Andreth thought, Aelin could see all this through the window at the bow. But the view was not as vast, nor the air so clear and filled with the cry of gulls as it was, below deck.

Elros stood behind her, his solid warmth against her back, his jaw pressed to her hair, his hands at her waist.

"It's beautiful," she murmured. Behind her, he sighed, and shifted his weight.

"Indeed," he agreed. She could hear the smile in his voice. "They've built it for us."

"The elves of Tol Eressëa," she breathed.

"Yes," he agreed, "and-"

She felt him stiffen at her back, and a short, sharp breath of happiness escaped him.

"Olórin?" he breathed as he stepped away from her and moved to the railing at the prow, shading his eyes as he studied the elven folk waiting on the quays, and on the land rising from the water.

"Who?" Andreth asked, slipping up behind him, and touching his arm.

"Olórin!" he pointed toward the shoreline, though Andreth, even with her senses heightened since her marriage to Elros, could not see, among the bright, lovely forms, the one to whom he pointed. Elros slipped his arm around her and laughed gently in merry disbelief as he lifted his other hand and waved with enthusiasm toward someone she still could not yet see amongst the crowd of elves. "A good friend to both Elrond and me. Ah, I am glad to see him!"

"Which of those elves is he?" she asked, still unable to see the man whom Elros could.

"He is not an elf," Elros said. "He is a Maia."

"Like Lord Eönwë?"

Elros paused. "Yes, like Eönwë, in honor and courage, but- unlike, also. He is like-" Elros paused. "He is like a goodly king, noble, and with much power, but one who has not forgotten what it is like to be a child. He is noble and regal, but not so much that I could not sit with him before a fire, and confide all my thoughts and troubles. He knows how to appreciate small things, things that might pass unnoticed by others, and he has a merry laugh. Yet his courage could rival Tulkas'. He saved both my life and Elrond's more than once during the war."

"Indeed?" she asked, pleased. She lifted her eyes, studying the side of his face. "Then I am sure he and I will be good friends."

Elros looked over at her, and grinned, his grey eyes dancing. "I am certain you will be."

With his eyes turned upon his lady, and her eyes upon his, they did not see Eärendil, high above the great mountain peak, offer a last glimmering twinkle before sailing away westward. But Andreth saw him when she turned her head at last, the last of his light, like a falling star, fading brightly away over the horizon.

…oOo…

_So this is Olórin_, Andreth thought as she descended the wide plank, and alighted upon the dock. She touched a hand to the pouch of precious athelas seeds and leaves she carried over her shoulder, realizing for a moment that to these fair, bright elves, Maglor's leather bag likely looked out of place against her hip, its strap looped over the shoulder of her silken gown as if she meant to go sowing seeds in her fine clothes. But her elation was such that she hardly cared. The cries of gulls filled the air, a delicious, welcome sound, mingling with the merry greetings of elves along the docks as the others of the Edain disembarked from their own ships. She smiled as she approached her husband, and the tall man whose greying beard and hair belied the bright twinkle in his eyes. He did not seem like a mighty, fearsome warrior like Eönwë; rather he seemed like a gentle fatherly man, more used to taking small children onto his knee and making them laugh, rather than warring with balrogs. But as Olórin smiled and stepped forward, nodding to a tall elven man beside him, who stepped forward as well, a pace behind the kindly Maia, Andreth found that Olórin's fatherly appearance suited him.

"It is good to see you again, my boy," Olórin said, his voice deep, pleasantly gruff and warm.

"And you, my friend," Elros returned.

"Welcome to Rómenna**."**

The old man embraced the young Peredhel as though Elros were his own son, and as he did, his bright eyes met Andreth's over Elros' shoulder. Olórin smiled at this, a warm smile like her own father's had been, and in that moment, Andreth knew that she and Olórin were friends.

"We will not stay here long," Olórin said, his voice gruff and soothing at once, turning his eyes back to Elros, "for you will be crowned in Armenelos, further inland, nearer the center of Elenna, and there ascend your throne, and take your sceptre."

At this, the bearded Maia turned and let his gentle gaze fall full upon Andreth. "With your lady queen at your side," he said softly. The gruffness of his voice softened a little, though the warmth remained.

He stepped to her, and took Andreth's hand in his own. "My lady," he said, bowing over their clasped hands before he looked up again, and offered her a companionable wink. "If I may be permitted to say, I can see, though we have only just met, that Elros is a most fortunate man." He straightened, and smiled warmly. "I am honored to meet you."

"My Lord, Olórin," she returned. "The honor is mine." She drew in a breath. "I have much to thank you for. As I understand it, you saved the life of my husband more than once."

Beyond his shoulder, Elros looked on, smiling, and as she traded a glance with him, he grinned.

Further behind Elros, the tall elf stood, as if waiting. Fleetingly, she met the elf's eyes. He smiled and offered a faint nod. Andreth paused. He seemed- familiar, though she was certain she had never met the man. He was handsome, with a warrior's build, and he seemed somehow- different than the elves about him. Though she was certain he was no Maia like Olórin, his skin seemed to bear a faint _glow_ to it, though Andreth reminded herself that it could simply be the sunlight off the glimmer of his clothing. But it could not be. For fine though his garb was, and light in color, it was not markedly different from his fellows.

"Not more often than he saved mine," Olórin assured, bringing Andreth's eyes back to his.

"I am called Andreth," she said.

"Andreth, daughter of Beldir," Elros added, "of the House of Bëor."

"Indeed?" Olórin queried, his glance coming back to her. His eyes danced. "A most fitting name. And an honorable house from which you have descended." His smile grew warm. "But no doubt, Elros came to love you for the greatness of your heart, not your ancestors'."

Andreth felt herself blushing, and Olórin's gaze softened. "I can see in your eyes, the brightness of your soul," he continued.

Again Andreth looked toward Elros who stood just behind Olórin's shoulder. "His own soul is wondrously bright as well," she murmured. To this, Elros' eyes met her own, and his smile grew tender.

"Now," Olórin said, stepping back, and turned toward the tall elf who had been waiting in silence, and regal patience. "May I introduce a friend of mine. One who perhaps understands your sentiments well."

Olórin stepped away, and Andreth moved to Elros' side. She slipped her hand into his as the golden haired elf took a step nearer to them.

"I was hoping to meet someone very dear to me," the elven man said, his voice soft, and deep, like Olórin's but smoother, and more youthful. He lifted his eyes to the deck of the ship, scanning the sailors there, clearly not seeing whom he was looking for. "I understood she had come with you."

Andreth's heart throbbed suddenly within her.

_She_- the elf had said. Elros seemed to sense her sudden excitement, and turned to her, though Andreth's eyes remained fixed upon the elf's face.

"You speak of Aelin," she said.

"Yes." His eyes jerked back to her, brightening with hope. "Yes. Aelin daughter of Calanon. She has come with you?" He took a step forward, his regal demeanor seeming to fall away in his haste and eagerness. "I have come from Tol Eressëa in the hopes that I might see her here. Perhaps she has spoken of me before. You see, I died, once, slain in battle, but I was reborn in the Blessed Realm. It has been nigh on sixty years since my rebirth. I am-"

"_Thallon_!"

Andreth spun toward Aelin's shriek, wild and fraught with frantic and sudden joy.

Aelin must have just come upon deck, a basket on her hip, but now the basket fell, and tipped on its side. Carefully folded linens tumbled out, but Aelin did not heed this as she sprinted down the ramp, her skirts flying about her. She darted past Andreth, Elros, and the bearded Maia before throwing herself into the elf's waiting arms.

"_Aelin_!" the elven man choked, his voice wild and broken before he buried his face in her hair.

Aelin's frame visibly shook, her sobs of joy audible even with her face buried against her husband's neck.

Andreth could not see her face, and as the elven man had buried his own face in Aelin's hair, she could not see his own expression. But she could see his hands, mottled from the strength with which he clutched his long sundered wife to him, the trembling of his fingers as he sobbed into her hair.

"Welcome home," Thallon managed, his once dulcet voice ragged with unfettered rapture. "Welcome home."

Andreth's eyes dropped to the wood of the dock beneath her feet, her throat suddenly choked with fierce emotion. For Aelin and her husband as well as herself, Elros, and all their people. For the Edain were truly _home_.

Elros' hand released her own, and slipped up her back, his fingers trailing to her shoulder. With gentle, though sturdy strength, he gripped her shoulder, and drew her close. Her own hand lifted, circling about his waist, and she closed her eyes against the tears she could feel forming.

Elros turned his head, his breath warm against her hair before his lips touched her temple. "Welcome home," he murmured in words softer, less broken than Thallon's, but just as deep with joy. His free hand gently touched the flat of her stomach where their son grew. "Welcome home."


	61. Chapter 61

Epilogue

Beyond the high doors before her, she could hear the muffled murmur of Olórin's voice echoing through the wide chamber that would be their throne room. He was addressing the people gathered there, preparing them, no doubt, for the entrance of their king and queen. But she could not hear the Maia's words.

"You look beautiful."

Andreth turned her eyes from the high oaken doors before them to look into Elros' eyes beside her.

He smiled when their eyes met, and squeezed her hand already woven through his own. The ceremonial robes he wore glimmered in the light that spilled through the high windows on either side of them, deep blue, hemmed in silver. He looked truly kingly.

Her own rich gown was fashioned in the same tones as his own, but her gown was silver, and edged in deep blue. And about her throat, she wore the necklace of mithril and pearl Elros had given her, the day he had first asked her to marry him. Her long tresses, plaited in intricate ropes, hung against her shoulders and down her back in elegant, glimmering loops.

"Thank you," Andreth said, her face blushing like a maiden. "You look quite handsome yourself."

"I am glad you approve," he murmured, shrugging his shoulders. "For my part, I must confess, these robes are a bit heavy. Though perhaps it is not the weight of the cloth, but rather the weight of all the eyes that will soon be upon us." He heaved a soft breath.

"Forgive them this bit of pomp," she murmured, squeezing his hand. She smiled, recalling Círdan's dear face the first night she had supped in Mithlond, and the words he had spoken, much like the ones she did, now. "Our people wish to see you take your throne."

"I know," Elros said and turned to her, his smile penitent. "And I'll not begrudge them this. Even so, I will be relieved when it is done."

He leaned near her, his shoulder touching hers. "I am glad you are here."

To this, Andreth smiled, leaning near to rest her cheek against his arm. "Always."

At the touch of her cheek against his arm, Elros heaved a deep breath, and turned, pressing a kiss to the intricately twined braids of her hair.

"Hathel mentioned this morning that only three weeks remain before his bachelorhood is but a memory," he said, a smile in his voice. "He did not seem reluctant to bid it farewell, though."

Andreth grinned at this. "Indeed," she agreed recalling Talia's face as she and several other maidens had helped their new queen don her clothing for the ceremony. "Talia fairly glowed this morning."

"Hathel offered me the honor of overseeing their vows," Elros said, to which Andreth turned to him, her brows lifting in delight.

"Oh, wonderful! Of course, as king, such authority to perform weddings will be yours. You said yes, of course?"

"How could I not?" Elros returned, his eyes bright. "I told him I would be more than honored."

Andreth released a pleased sigh. "Good."

In that moment, an echoing creak interrupted their thoughts, and the doors before them began to swing open, drawn by guards within.

A great chamber lined with pillars opened to her view, lined on one side and the other by rows of the Edain, and here and there, elves of Tol Eressëa, their allies.

"Do you remember what Olórin rehearsed with us?" Elros whispered.

Andreth drew in a deep breath. "I think so."

They exchanged a last look, then turned forward, and hand in hand, started into the room.

Amongst the faces of the crowd, Andreth caught the eyes of Aelin. The elven lady beamed as their eyes met, a light in her face that Andreth had not seen in all the months they had known one another before Aelin's reunion with her husband. Blinking wetness from her eyes, Andreth smiled back, hoping her gaze conveyed her profound pleasure for her friend's renewed happiness before she turned her eyes forward again toward the high dais of many steps at the far end of the hall.

Olórin stood at the crest of it clad in regal grey robes two carven thrones behind him. Aelin's reunited husband Thallon stood at the Maia's shoulder a half step behind him. A sceptre of wrought silver with highlights of gold, rested in the strong hands of the reborn elf while to his right Talia stood, and her betrothed, Hathel upon Thallon's left. Talia, her face alight, wore a garland of new flowers as many of the other women did, her light blue gown catching in the light that spilled through the chambers' high windows. Her eyes fairly glowed, while upon Thallon's left hand, Hathel's face was no less bright, reflecting the happiness of his betrothed.

Each carried a small cushion on which sat a crown. The crowns were not so notable as the sceptre, which Andreth understood would be the true symbol of Elros' power. Still of themselves, the crowns were wonderfully wrought. Elros' crown, borne by Hathel, was of silver, wrought like a swirling vine with highlights of gold, small plumes hinting at the wings of a seabird, encircling the gilded circlet. Upon the cushion Aelin carried, rested Andreth's crown, of elegantly twisted mithril wire, accented with inlaid pearl; delicate in appearance, but strong, for Olórin had let her handle it earlier. "_Beautiful, but strong like you_," he had said, his eyes twinkling with pleasure, "_fashioned for one_ _wise and noble, as a queen of men should be_."

Across the space between them, she met the bearded Maia's eyes, and he smiled.

Their footsteps echoed as side by side, Andreth and Elros strode toward the dais. Despite the numbers of Edain and Eldar, no sound could be heard aside from their own feet upon the stone tiles beneath them.

At the foot of the dais, Andreth stopped. Elros looked at her, his eyes filled with a fleeting look of pleading. She squeezed his hand and gave him an encouraging nod to which he smiled, then turned and continued alone up the steps.

As he went, Hathel stepped nearer to the Maia.

Elros reached the crest of the dais, and stooped to one knee before the bearded Maia who smiled down at him, then turned and lifted the king's crown, turned back, and settled it gently upon the young Peredhel's brow.

A murmur rippled over the crowd at this as Elros rose, and with a deep breath, turned to face the room again. His eyes gleamed brightly, proud and regal, and Andreth's heart gave a painful throb of pride and of love as murmurs of reverent approval rippled through the room. Olórin smiled, and drew back as Talia now stepped forward to the young king's side.

Drawing in a deep breath, Andreth started up the steps struggling to still her shivering limbs. Lifting her eyes, she fixed her gaze upon her husband's. Elros watched her come, his hands at his sides. His regal aspect of moments before eased into a look of familiar adoration as she ascended. His smile was warm, and his gaze tender as she stopped three steps below the crest of the dais, her limbs straight, her chin lifted, though she shivered a little with the solemnity of the moment.

Drawing in a deep breath, Elros turned, and lifted the crown from its resting place in Aelin's arms. Gently, he settled the crown upon her head.

The metal was cool at first where it touched the flesh of her brow, before it warmed to her skin, and it was more weighty that it appeared. She lifted her gaze to his, to see his eyes glowing with love.

Elros extended his hand, Andreth lifted her hand and took it, smiling a little, comforted by the strong warmth of his touch. With her own hand sheltered in his warm grasp, she rose the last steps to the crest of the dais to her husband's side. Their eyes met briefly, and she returned his faint smile before they faced the Maia, and knelt as one before him.

Their robes whispered about them, the cool of the stone seeping into her knees through the cloth of her gown. Behind her, the room shifted and whispered. Andreth drew in a tremulous breath, and silently squeezed Elros' hand as Olórin turned to Thallon. The elf offered the sceptre with a bow of his head, and the Maia accepted it as the elf retreated.

A heavy silence fell over the room, even the air seemed still as Olórin turned, stooped, and offered the sceptre to Elros.

Andreth's eyes watched the side of her husband's face, seeing in his expression the gravity of what he was about to do. Elros' eyes, unblinking, fixed upon Olórin's before he reached up, and accepted the sceptre with both hands.

Olórin's lips trembled a little behind his beard, his eyes gleaming with wetness as he spoke in a faintly broken voice, "Rise, my young friends, and take your thrones."

Elros' hand tightened about her own, and together, the new king and queen rose in a whisper of rich cloth.

In silence, Elros guided her to the throne that would be hers, then with a gentle squeeze, released her hand to move to his own. Together, they turned at last, to faced the vast room, and in silence, save for the whisper of her skirts, the new king and queen lowered themselves into the carven thrones, the stone of her arm rests cool and smooth beneath her hands.

At this, Olórin stepped forward to the edge of the dais.

"Newly come people of the noble Houses of the Second Born, the Faithful," Olórin called in a voice that filled the chamber and echoed warmly, "To you, I give your king, Elros _Tar-Minyatur_, High First Ruler of Númenor, and Andreth, First Lady Queen of Númenor."

With a sweep of his hand, the Maia gestured to the seated king and his queen, and stepped aside.

At this, cheers filled the once silent chamber, echoing off the walls, spilling, she did not doubt, into the streets of their capital, Armenelos, the streets beyond now filled with rejoicing.

But she did not speak, and instead, turned her head, blinking back her tears as she found Elros' eyes.

He smiled, still her husband, her beloved and her friend, even with the sceptre in his hand, and the crown upon his head. His face softened at the tears in her eyes, and he reached a hand over the arm of his great seat. Andreth in turn extended her own hand, which found and touched his, encircled in a moment within his strong, warm fingers.

"I love you, Elros," she breathed, and he smiled.

"_And I love you, Andreth_," he murmured, his voice low, but carrying easily over the sounds of merriment. "_My_ _fairest_ ___Tindómiel, my own Blessed Realm."_

His fingers gently squeezed hers, strong, and gentle at once, and his eyes grew tender. "_And you are, and ever will be more precious to me than all the bright jewels of Tirion. More sweet to me than unending life. And so will our children be."_

Andreth drew in a breath, her eyes swimming at his fair words. She touched a hand to her stomach where she could feel the stirring of their son's budding fëa, and Elros smiled, noting the gesture, his grip gently tightening in confirmation of his words.

How blessed she was, to have him as her husband. How blessed their people. And how blessed their children would be, and their grandchildren, until the ending of the world, because of the choice of Elros.

A tear, one of joy and of hope, spilled over the rim of her lashes, and trailed a line down her cheek.


	62. Conveying True Love in a Story

Dear Readers, I hope you don't mind, but I liked my essay on true love so much, I thought I'd tack it on the end of Elros' and Andreth's story. Otherwise, it would be gone in a couple of months. My grammar essay, well, I didn't like it quite so much.

This essay is going to focus on my philosophy of love, chiefly romantic love. But some basic rules of love, like respect and honor and both parties truly striving to make a relationship successful, actually apply to all sorts of relationships.

Don't review it unless you really want to; it's not part of the story, strictly speaking, and I may decide to delete it later on.

...oOo...

I have read stories before, where the characters were physically attracted to each other, and the words "I love you," came out of both their mouths. The authors were using lots of fluffy words and glorious language to create the scene, and clearly wanted me to believe that these two folks loved each other, but try as I might, I couldn't force myself to believe that they did. Why? Because they didn't show by their actions that there was any respect, or regard, or real effort put forth to build the relationship. There was no honest friendship there. I wanted, very much, for my story about Elros and Andreth not to fall to that same fate.

I wanted it to be more like Love Comes Softly by Sache8, which is a wonderful example of a romance that is has its foundation on mutual regard and friendship. I adore it.

I need to say a great big Thank You to **Glory Bee**, who reviewed this story from the beginning, and helped me to keep my characters real and sincere. You've been a big help, mellon nin. You may not know how much I have valued your help, and your reviews. But I have.

…oOo…

How does a reader know when a character in a story is truly in love? Is it when the character notices the attractiveness of someone of the opposite sex, and gets all flitterpated? When it comes to romantic love, that's certainly a part of it. A big part of it. You can't have real romantic love without physical attraction going equally both ways. But attraction isn't the only part. If physical attraction is the only thing in a relationship, then the relationship is pretty shallow and petty, and is never going to go anywhere meaningful.

While the characters in my story, Elros and Andreth, are strongly attracted to each other physically, I have also tried very hard to show that they also value each other for many things in addition to their mutual attraction.

I think the biggest thing about love, any kind, really, is that one respects herself or himself first of all. You cannot love someone else unless you respect yourself first, and that is an unfixable part of the way the world works.

Also, in order to be capable of true and honest love, a person must first be honest and honorable. Not perfect, but making a sincere attempt to do good. I personally have a hard time believing stories where one of the characters, (usually the guy for some reason) is some sort of dishonorable individual, but after meeting the other character suddenly, and with very little visible effort, changes. In real life, people aren't really like that. If you can't change your life around for your own sake, you can't change it around for someone else's. In writing this story, I've worked hard to show that Elros and Andreth were already on the right track to being people who were capable and deserving of real love. For example, before they met, both Elros and Andreth were already good people. They sincerely cared about others around them, and they worked hard in their own little spheres to make life better for others. Elros was a more visible figure, fighting alongside his brother in the War of Wrath, but Andreth, while she wasn't a warrior, worked in her quiet little way to make life better for Firiel, and the friends she had, living around them. This created a situation that when Elros and Andreth met, not only did they notice the physical attractiveness of the other, but they also noticed the truly honorable heart the other had. And that planted the seed that would later grow into deep and sincere mutual regard. As Elros said to Firiel once, "But that is not the only reason why I love her, for her soul is good and kind, and makes her outward beauty shine all the more. Were she not thus, I could not love her, no matter how beautiful she was."

Another thing that I hope has shown the true love between these two, is that neither was interested in the other for selfish reasons. Andreth, for example, was not interested in pursuing Elros at all at first, even though she came to realize that she loved him, because she didn't want him to have to give up immortality for her. She would rather live the rest of her life alone rather than express her feelings to him, so that he could, as she saw it, fulfill his own destiny. Of course, her ideas were incorrect, but she did have his best interests as she saw them, at heart. For Elros' part, despite the fact that he knew he was falling in love with Andreth, he wasn't ridiculously needy when it came down to it. He did feel jealous of Hathel at the beginning of their rivalry, but he was not needy. He knew that if Andreth chose the mortal over him, that he would bow gracefully out, and wish them happiness.

Additionally, I wanted to convey that Elros and Andreth's lives were not completely tied up in each other. Constantly having to be around someone else isn't a sign of true love, but actually a sign of serious and unhealthy neediness. A good indicator of a healthy relationship, interestingly, is that the two sweeties do not need to be around each other twenty four hours a day. They enjoy their time together when they are, of course, but they have interests and projects that they enjoy on their own. Andreth found things she liked to do while she was in Cirdan's house. Music and weaving, for example. Which she did independently of Elros. And he had his lighthouse that he was working on. Also, I made a big effort to make sure that Elros in my story, didn't choose mortality for the sole purpose of being with Andreth. (Again, thank you **Glory Bee** for helping me with that.) In fact, I worked hard to show that he chose mortality because he knew in his heart it was the right thing to do. Not because it would get him Andreth, (although it was a nice motivator to help her realize she needed to articulate to him the true nature of her feelings for him.) Also, they missed each other when they were apart, but they were able to endure the time apart without becoming depressed and useless, because they were both well adjusted people. At least it was my intention to convey as much.

In writing this story, I have tried very hard to show a blossoming relationship that was tense with sexual attraction, and was also a very full and rich, and healthy relationship between two people who genuinely value each other. I have attempted to show Elros and Andreth not only as passionate lovers, but also as very, very good friends who will be there for each other through everything that comes at them, and will still be in love even when they are old and not so physically attractive as they are when they sail to Numenor.


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